You Are
by Pmrising
Summary: They were neighbors, briefly, before friends. And Anna always did find it strange how it snowed whenever she was with Elsa. The moments they spent, ruined by terrible weather, freak snowstorms, outrageous forecasts. She never once suspected it to be anything other than bad timing. Oh how wrong she really was. Modern AU. Elsa still has powers. Not related. (Cover by NoblePlatypus)
1. Chapter 1

**First Elsanna fanfic. I have big plans for this story, so i'm not going to desert it or (hopefully if it gets some) its fans. This will probably be ten to twelve chapters of these two girls, their friends, romance, you know how it is.**

**In all honesty, i want to write about Elsa's powers, let alone the romance between these two fabulous characters. I love their personalities so much, polar opposites attract, i can't get enough of it! But i love the concept of Elsa's powers mingling in with her emotions. I swear the idea of it all makes me go stiff with interest. Frozen stiff...haha**

**(This fic will contain Kristoff, Olaf and even Sven)**

**Please enjoy :)**

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You Are - Chapter 1

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She didn't ask for a coffee, but I'm bringing it up anyways. For one thing, I had some extra cash in my pockets that was begging to be spent and, for another thing, I had never seen Elsa look so horrible in all my years of being her neighbor, until this morning. So, in hopes to brighten her day, which I assumed was terrible due to the bags under her eyes and restless bed head, I decided to get her favorite blend by the coffee shop that is parked parallel to our apartment building.

Knocking on her door, I pray that she won't try to pay me back for the coffee this time, because really, after everything she's done for me through the years, the money spent on my fine ass getting lost or the nerves I struck when arriving at her door drunk and belligerent, a cup of coffee is the least I can do, and her friendship is just the beginning.

"Elsa," I knock once again, rapping my hand against the door, chiming out a soft, fine tune. "Do you want some coffee? It's your favorite," My voice is playful, teasing.

I can't wait for her to answer. I'm too worried and too confused about why elegant and poised Elsa looked like she was run over by a lawnmower this morning. Earlier, I had knocked on her door with a different sort of finesse, a calmer upbringing, never once assuming that she would answer with such a wearied look on her face. She was visibly tired, near the point of exhaustion. Her eyes were bloodshot, hair curled by the edges, sprayed in all sorts of directions. Seeing Elsa look so messy was oddly comforting, giving me clarity that even the most gorgeous of girls can have their off days, but I still found it incredibly amusing, even when she growled at me for laughing. While knocking once again, I have the image of messy, growling, tired Elsa rampaging around in my head, and I'm incredibly excited to see if her transformation had finally calmed.

The door is opened, but stops abruptly when I hear the clanging of locks thunder within the apartment and a loud feminine grunt from my neighbor. I laugh because she does this every morning. And I saw it coming from the moment I knocked. Through the years of our friendship, my once strong opinions on Elsa's strange fears have receded significantly. At some point the clanging of locks disturbed me, now they seem to only give comfort. Elsa's door, and her habitual detachment, is probably the reason why.

Following into the routine she had desperately gained a few years ago, Elsa always locks her door with a series of chains and bolts. It's so causal, so frequent, she does it without thinking. Her hands usually move swiftly over every chain and lock, turning and twisting, gripping and locking. It's strangely surreal, especially when watching her do it without a second thought. The moment she closes her door, she locks it.

I listen intently to the noises behind the thin layer between us, her muttering, the clanging of chains and locks. She tries to open it, but it jams once again. Elsa grunts. This time, the only thing holding it back is a golden chain. She slams it shut and jiggles the chain once more. I laugh softly and, when I hear the doorknob turning, I prepare myself with a warm smile.

"The coffee's iced right?" She pleads before even giving me a glance. Not even mentioning a hello as she gently cracks the door wider, revealing a poorly tamed mane of hair, sloppily applied makeup and two shapely slender pale legs, hidden underneath a - what seemed to be - man's t-shirt. It was big on her; the sleeves reached to her elbows and the collar was stretched far over one shoulder. I never knew it was actually possible to look so naked while wearing clothes, until now.

I felt as if I was intruding, which always springs forth my stuttering tongue. "O-Oh gosh. Am I- Are you busy? Like busy busy? Did I ruin your-"

She's glancing at me oddly and takes her iced beverage with a firm grip. Her touch is familiar, relatable. I can't help but want more. And, after taking a sip from her straw, she peers at her shirt and grins sheepishly at the ground, "Oh gosh, Anna. This is an old shirt-" She's laughing now. "No one else is in here. You know that."

I shrug. "Well, I don't know how many gentleman suitors you have, Elsa." I walk briskly into her apartment, stopping by the kitchen table, littered with her mail, to plop my searing hot coffee down on the side.

"Gentleman suitors?" She's laughing now, leaning against the open front door frame and putting a soft hand against her lips.

We both laugh and then a man passes by the open doorway, clearly peeking into our space as he does so. His eyebrows reach his hairline after giving Elsa a good look down, and I laugh even louder as she slams the front door with a shaky hand. Then again with the locks. I listen to the snapping of metal, the cracking of chains. When the noises pause, I know she's making sure every single one is carefully applied. She turns and puffs a breath before sipping her drink once again.

"There's too many weirdoes living around us," I concur, taking my place on her kitchen counter. It's nestled between a small cabinet and her fridge, the perfect place to pull my knees to my chest and snuggle against the wall in complete relaxation. It's my seat. It's the spot I take every day when I visit her. She knows this by now, which explains why all her kitchen items (microwave, blender, etc.) are crammed at the other side of her counter. Her organization is out of care; the thought of this always makes me smile.

"You're one of them," She teases, giving me a quick, sly glance. Her lips are slightly curved upwards, and I can tell she's desperately trying to hide a smile.

"Oh, please," I flippantly wave my hand before shoving it out, fingertips meeting the hot coffee cup. Elsa knows me so well; she knows I want my coffee. I mutter a soft thanks and take a sip. "You're the weirdest out of us all, Els."

She turns from her mail and drops a stack of papers directly on the kitchen table she now hovers over. "Excuse me?" She's a bit shocked.

"You're weird."

"Am not."

"It's the middle of December and you're drinking iced coffee and sleeping with only a shirt and some undies."

She's sipping her drink as I say this, rolling her eyes. A little noise makes it way from the back of her throat and she begins to shuffle through her papers again. Her lips are quivering, trying hard not to smile, her eyes are reading the mail in her hands, and she shuffles in her spot. Elsa mutters something then, low, light, soft. I can barely make it out, but her obvious nervousness makes me only want to know more.

"Pardon?" I ask, leaning in.

"I said…" She turns her head to sip her drink once more. "No underwear."

And my brain is short circuiting. Or maybe having a malfunctioning problem, because I start laughing, hard. My head slams into the wall behind me and I feverishly grasp the bump (I'm sure it's bleeding), while weakly whimpering past my laughter. I'm blushing. I know I am. And I can't help but peek from my ducking head to Elsa's pale legs and tracing the soft curve of her butt, just barely cut off by her shirt. I imagine, for a moment, that she hasn't noticed my wondering eyes yet. Her shirt is now translucent due to window of light behind her, revealing the indent of her small figure. And the more I stare, the more I memorize and hunt out the outline of her shapely back and ass, darkened by the light. I'm sure there's a thin line a drool making its way down my chin.

She's naked. Under that shirt. She completely naked. If she sat down and crossed her legs, I would probably see-

I'm attracted to her suddenly. I can barely move from my spot. My eyes are locked, frozen. My breathing is uneven, irregular. And it's about time she notices my roaming, perverted eyes.

It's early so the lights aren't on. And the only source of sight is from the sun, blocked by a layer of thick snowy clouds. I love this weather. And I fake innocence, by gazing off at the glowing window behind her, instead of seeking out that delicious body hidden underneath a large shirt.

She grins shyly and sips her drink once more. "You okay?" She doesn't look at me when she talks this time; her eyes are reading and concentrating on the letter in her hands. Yet, I wonder, if she's really focusing, why has she been reading the same envelope for the past few minutes now?

"Fine," I grumble out weakly, my voice hoarse from what I'm guessing is slight arousal. I clear my throat, blame my burning cheeks on the equally burning coffee on my lips and then try to start off fresh. "You looked like hell this morning."

Elsa chuckles, and then finally glances at me. "I went out last night."

I sit up, my legs dangle out from beyond the countertop, eyes wide. "You never go out," I'm leaning close to her, confusingly quirking an eyebrow upwards at her claim.

"Anna, I did."

"Impossible," I cry out sarcastically. "You? Go out? The first few years I lived here I was convinced you were a shut in."

"Because I was a shut in," She gazes at me, a soft smile resting on her brilliant features. We both eye the locks on her door briefly. I can barely make her face out; the window light is hitting her back sharply so her blond locks look absolutely radiant and I can't help but realize, once again, that Elsa is beautiful. And she's too good to be true. Too good to be living in a horrible little apartment right above a Chinese restaurant. Too good to never have had a boyfriend at the age of 23. Too good for any of it. "But, Anna, you were the one who got me out of my shell."

"More like forced you out."

"With iced coffee," she chuckles, dangling the cup in the air, before taking a sip.

"Okay, so where were you last night?" I can't help but sound like a boyfriend. "I sound like a boyfriend," I laugh.

She does too. "No, I get your obvious curiosity," She places a finger to her chin, as if to remember the recent events. "I met some people from my classes up at NYU and we all decided to just get drunk."

I cross my arms. "With the way you looked this morning I don't think drunk even covers it."

Her lips purse out. And I know that look. It's her annoyed look. Her teasingly, narcissistic, playful, annoyed look. I hate it as much as I love it. "I'll have you know, Anna, that I wasn't even tipsy," She gazes at me and then settles back down at her mail. Her lips are in a thin line, eyes clear and dominant. There's a little boastful tone to her voice. "I didn't have one drink."

"Okay, so wait-" I scratch my head, hitting the bump by accident which makes me wince. "Okay, so then why did you look so terrible this morning?"

"Maybe I look terrible every morning."

A let out a huff of air. We both know that's not true. "Are you searching for compliments right now?"

"Anna!" She gasps. "Anna, I would never…"

I sip my coffee. And continue to look at the window behind her. Every once in a while, I shift my eyes to her profile which is still reading the same letter. Her cheeks are blushed. I notice this instantly. "Elsa, I'm here every morning. We both know you never look terrible."

"If I don't look terrible then-"

"You look beautiful," I say thickly, quickly sipping my coffee to maybe choke down the stutter or heavy panting that I know will start up again soon.

Elsa turns to face me, and I swear the second she does a light blip of snow comes cradling down to earth, settling right against the glass window behind her. I rush out towards the glass. "It's snowing!" I'm grinning wildly. I love the snow. But my favorite season is summer for various reasons, the main one being my introduction to Elsa. Which was happily on one of the warmest days of the year.

My face is cold as I rub it against the window, staring down at the people walking below on the sidewalk. They're ants. Everyone's an ant. It begins to snow harder, which causes a few ants to run faster, covering their heads with newspapers, umbrellas, bags, anything. I laugh. "It's really coming down, huh?"

There's silence, which I believe is from Elsa currently drinking her coffee, but then she, nimbly mutters out, "You think I'm beautiful?" Her voice is so soft. As soft as the snow outside, I swear.

When I turn, I realize she hasn't moved from her spot by the kitchen table. Which I find instantly unnerving. Elsa loves the snow. Yet her eyes are wide with fear. She's still as a stone and there's an envelope in her hands lightly held up without care. I can finally make out the details of her emotions, now that the window light shines brilliantly upon her features. I laugh weakly, nervously, concerned. "Of course," I, myself, can even hear the shakiness in my voice.

Elsa snaps out of this trance and glances at the kitchen table, eyebrows growing closer and closer, lips in a firm line once again.

"Els-"

"You've never said that to me before," She says suddenly, glancing at me once again. The mail is now completely disregarded. It's in the past. "You've never told me I was beautiful before. In all the years I've known you."

"Well-" I shrug. "I mean, you are." I push a lock behind my ear, a nervous trait. "Beautiful..."

It was something that always itched at the tip of my tongue. Always so close to wording out. And now that I've finally said it, complete with my nervous stuttering, I feel dumber than I look. She was beautiful. She is beautiful. Elsa, I believed, would always be beautiful. If not her complexion, then maybe her insides. Her insides would always be beautiful. Healthy and pure, her soul, her being, her innards, would be blessed, beautiful, clean, neat.

Elsa.

She grins suddenly, her eyes fluttering about, shyly toying with the letter. "Thank you, Anna."

I shrug again, aching to turn back to the window. But her eyes have me on lock down. I can barely move let alone nervously tuck a stray hair behind my ear once again. "I bet lots of people tell you that."

She shakes her head, the smile still in place. "Really, they don't."

"Not even your boyfriends?"

"Anna. You know I've never dated anyone before."

"Which, I say again, complete shocker." I gasp out, laughing lightly. I'm being friendly. I'm not flirting. I'm being nice and sweet to one of my closest friends, who, consequently, I live next door to, visit every morning, think about when I go to sleep at night and know like the back of my hand. I finally rip my gaze from Elsa's and turn back to the window, which is now littered with snow; it's pushed around the edges, covering the view completely. I can barely make out the streetlights. I gasp out of disbelief.

"Turn on the news," I say, glancing at Elsa who is already at her small TV, clicking the remote feverishly.

Her cheeks are still red. I note this before coming beside her to listen in on the forecast.

"What seems to be a sudden snowstorm has made its way into Manhattan," The forecaster pats the map with the palm of his hand. "And get this folks…only Manhattan. That's right. There's a small snowstorm, only in Manhattan. Everywhere else? Completely dry."

"How strange," Elsa mutters, casting a weary glance at her window. "Did they know this was going to happen?"

"Guess not."

We both lock eyes once more, a bit of worry trekking across our features. But our obvious nervousness wasn't from the random, unexplainable, snowstorm currently binding us into our homes. It was- well- is it strange to say it's all a bit intimate suddenly? The moment changes so drastically I barely felt it coming. The mood shifts without our control. It was as if we suddenly realized the predicament we were in and, shockingly, how much we loved it.

Before we kiss, I recall the very moment I met Elsa, crammed in her room, the only distance between us being a silver chain attached to her door and the inside of her apartment. She was so shy then, reluctant to try anything, desperate for solitude. The first thing I saw on Elsa, before words were ever spoken, were her eyes, and now I'm staring directly at them with the same amount of nerves and fears I felt the moment we first met.

The cold wind shutters around the apartment, snow covers the windows, casting a shadow onto the kitchen and dining room. I'm in the dark suddenly, with Elsa, and before I can say something to distract from the thick tension, I'm shifting forwards, following the beautiful girl's lead. We're close. So close I can already taste her lips on mine. I slam my eyes shut, casting fate before me, opening up my walls, letting it all just go. We've been friends forever, yet why did this experience feel so right? Why did it feel so incredibly revealing? I'm shaking now, my hands searching her sides; I'm almost there, just a few more inches-

Elsa's window suddenly cracks open. Both doors flap out, slamming against the walls, causing the gust and snow to flood into the kitchen and living room.

We gasp and then scream at each other. Yelling demands this way and that as we storm to the window, bracing it with all our combined forces. The shutters quake beneath Elsa's hands and my back, and we both are a bit too nervous to even glance at each other. Swiftly, I re-lock the windows while Elsa steps back and grunts in absolute disbelief.

We stare at the windows, willing them to stay shut, but they continue to rattle as we both fall to the floor in a heap of exhaustion.

There's snow littering her apartment; it's on the floor, countertop, the TV (that is still playing the forecast) and we finally share a glance, our faces red from either arousal or disbelief, and laugh. My hands brace the ground as I barely stop my back from shuddering with laughter. Elsa is on the floor, covering her mouth slightly as she too chuckles gleefully.

The snow around us is already melting when I ask, "Did you have the nightmare again?"

And Elsa looks at me fearfully.

"That's why you look so tired. I mean- You didn't sleep last night did you?" My voice is quiet, hushed.

She nods, faintly. Daintily rubbing her eyes with thin slender, pale fingers. "It's the same dream. Every time."

I nod, knowing she can't see me, and remain silent.

We were going to kiss. We were so close. I could feel her soft breath, gracing my lips. Her cold hands carefully trailing under my shirt.

"Want to talk about it?"

I didn't know if I was referring to the kiss or the dream. Either way Elsa shakes her head. The same answer every time. "No thanks," I never heard her voice sound so shrill before.

"Want to go to mine?" I say aloud, pulling my bangs back to glance at Elsa who is still cramming her fingers in her face.

She looks up, then around, taking a look at her kitchen table and her mail, sopping wet. "Sure," She rises and we both climb out to the hallway. "At least I don't have to worry about my bills anymore."

I laugh softly as she closes her door.

The storm continues and we watch it rage on all night long. It finally settles once Elsa leaves my apartment at midnight.

We didn't kiss after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you, Thank you, Thank you for the reviews, follows and favorites! I didn't expect this story to get so much attention in the beginning (personally I feel it's a bit too slow but whatever). Your reviews were very helpful and I had some very interesting advice. You're all so incredibly sweet. I also want to say thanks to **Trained2Love**, your a beautiful human being and after all the advice you gave me (and ass kisses) I'm sure you will have an amazing forever now ;)**

**I just want to say that this chapter is different then the first one. It's fast paced. I cover a lot of ground, background story but not too much info. Its angsty, with a few little cute scenes. Most of the past storytelling chapters will be a bit angsty, while current storytelling will be...well...you know...;) I really needed to get their past out of the way for me to really continue with the story, but next chapter will continue just like the first one.**

**Anyway! Please enjoy :) And thank you again.**

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You Are - Chapter 2

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I met Hans before I met Elsa. At the time, I was still fresh from a small town out west, so New York City was a place of giants and intrigue to me. First step off the train and an angry elderly woman almost pushed me down a manhole - I was instantly in love. The loud noises, excessive talking, sights to be seen, it was all so freeing to me. And Hans felt the same sort of connection to the city that I did, an unknown familiarity. A weird internal love for a city we barely knew or understood.

In detail, I met Hans at the front steps of our apartment, by the Chinese Restaurant we live above. He was smiling wildly, excited, two large suitcases in his hands. Hans' first impression put my shuddering heart quickly at ease. Finally realizing there was another poor new soul in the city of chances, other than me, made the whole adventure a bit easier to chew. We introduced ourselves and he told me he loved the city, but that he loved my eyes even more. It was the second time I fell in love with something so instantly. But we didn't date for a while due to the boys upstairs.

When I say the boys upstairs, I mean that in a literal sense, of course. The upstairs apartment, a huge room with no doors and one kitchen, was inhabited by thirteen boys and men all from the Eastern Isles. Though they seemed harmless enough, their behavior was incredibly suspicious: shifty eyes, badger hands, quick movements and fallen topics- it all changed when I presented myself accordingly, helping Hans carry his luggage up the stairs, wrenching of exhaustion when I reached the top. They were his brother's none the less, and they were happy to have me.

The second I stepped into the apartment - the first whiff, the first look, the first boom of laughter - I knew instantly that there were no girls on the upper floors above my home. I was disgusted, so I cleaned.

The kitchen always had a habit of being the messiest place in the apartment. One brother, by the name of Nicholas, was a painter, and frequently strewed his brushes about, always leaving the sink clogged with an array of colors. It was beautiful, the glistening water, filled with warm reds and cool blues. Sometimes, I wouldn't unclog the sink for a few hours, hoping that the color would stain, hoping that it wouldn't go away. Hans was the only one who helped me clean, and after a whole afternoon of mopping and vacuuming, we finally kissed on the front doorstep by the Chinese Restaurant. And I had never felt more alive in my life.

At that point, I spent all my days in school and all my nights with the boys. We would sit around and smoke, drink, feverishly enjoy topics surrounding one another. To me, they were the perfect group of men, strapping and young, bold and indifferent. They were the city to me. The boys were my New York. They were tall like the skyscrapers. And their suave attracted all the girls. They wore flashy suits and collars, like the city at night, bright and wonderful. Their coats were long and black, scarves wrapped around till the edges were tucked away for safe keeping, shoes, gleaming and shiny. They dressed big, they were big, their whole essence was big. They were small, skinny boys, but they were a, delightfully, big deal. The boys were my city. My own personal New York City that was just up the stairs to the left.

But one night, after choking a beer down, I leaned onto Hans as he stroked my hair with his warm, soft, large fingers, and wondered aloud, "Does anyone know who my neighbor is?"

The laughter stopped. The clattering of beers chilled. The city itself was finally quiet. I had never, in all my months of being surrounded by such men, seen them so silent and fearful. Their faces all melted, some scrunched up in annoyance. And I was left to explain my sudden outburst.

"I just-" I glanced at Hans, who was staring off at the open balcony beside us. His eyes were squinting, pretending to be distant. This made me even more nervous, so I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and muttered, "I mean, I haven't seen him once yet. And I've been here for months now."

"It's a her," Was called out amongst the group. Nicholas was smoking at the time, a habit he had taught me and Hans. I remember him clearly, even to this day, his shirt loosely unbuttoned, boots to the ankle, untied, the tongue hanging out. When he pulled the cigarette from his lips he cleared his throat dryly and stared at my confused expression. "Your neighbor is a girl."

"And she's crazy!" One boy shouted as all the others shushed him and pushed him from his chair.

I was mesmerized. Completely enamored then. A girl. She was a girl. I felt like a proud mother, after just given birth, to discover the gender of my child. Someone so unknown, who entered my thoughts once or twice along the way of my new life, was now becoming clearer and clearer. I laughed happily and pushed from Hans' embrace. "Is she pretty?" Was the first thing I asked. "Is she smart? Does she cook? Do you guys even know her?"

"We know of her," Sam said bitterly from way off to the side. He was glaring at Hans then, I watched his eyes shift and melted in my seat deeper. "That's all."

"Can you at least tell me her name?" I whispered weakly, confusion settling upon my drunken stupor.

"Jacob called her the Ice Queen once," One boy announced, laughing. "Perfect."

"Ice Queen."

"She's the Ice Queen."

They laughed loudly, all cheering in and throwing their hands around. I soon found myself becoming too entranced with their laughter to ever even consider their insults, so I laughed along. And I didn't stop laughing all night.

It wasn't until I found Hans, brushed up against another girl out in front of the Chinese Restaurant, that my whole world changed. It was clear to me, suddenly, while watching his fingers wriggle around under another girl's shirt, the same fingers that stroked my hair the night before, that Hans was my rock. He was what grounded me to the city. Made me love it. Appreciate it. Crave it. The boys really were the city. And without them it just wasn't the same.

Soon enough, the giants shrunk. The people grew meaner. The subway was just a hole in the ground. And I never walked up the stairs to Hans' apartment again. Those stairs became painful memories, a terrible stairway to hell. I haven't placed a foot on those steps in years. And I probably never will again.

I wasn't the same after our "break up". My sadness ran deep and thick in my veins, controlling my ability to smile, to be happy. I was dreadful. So, while walking to my apartment, I knocked on the Ice Queen's door without a single thought in my head. I knocked once. Twice. I can remember the hard thunking noise of my fist against the wood. And even through her door, the Ice Queen had this terrible affliction on me. I was terrified of my neighbor. Scared of her suddenly. Why did she never leave her room? Why didn't she answer the door? I could feel the chill even outside in the hallway, and I laughed softly to myself, because she really was an Ice Queen. Cold. Rude. Isolated. And alone.

Out of all thirteen brothers, the only one I continuously talked to was Nicholas, brave enough to grace me with his presence. When I stopped visiting the boys he became instantly stiff in all our conversations, maybe from embarrassment, or guilt. Hans, pushing away a prize such as myself, created the tint of red on Nicholas' cheeks, embarrassment flooded his thoughts. And Nicholas, never claiming me when he had the chance, spurred on the guilt. So, due to this, the uncertainty in our friendship was there, creeping up on us, just like my curiosity regarding the Snow Queen.

"So, you've never met her?"

He growled. "None of us have. We've been here forever and she's never left that apartment once," I could tell he was lying so I moved faster. He grabbed my arm when I walked ahead, and stopped me abruptly beside him "I don't trust her," His voice was fearful.

"Well, neither do I," I replied quickly. I was shaking, always have been around Nicholas. "But that doesn't mean I can't get to know her."

"She doesn't want to be known, Anna." He pushed me back a bit, thrusting me to the side. "Just leave her alone."

I was firm. "No."

He began tugging me then, cornering me. "Anna. I swear to god-"

"Nicholas," My voice was strong. And he realized the grip on my arm and pulled back fearfully.

That was the last night we smoked. My life suddenly was beginning to crowd with a lot of "last times". I was dreading every single goodbye, forcing relationships down to the very bone. Holding on with overbearing persistence. I found myself becoming annoying. And if I thought so poorly of my actions, I could barely begin to understand what all my other so-called friends thought of me.

Once Nicholas' bud flickered out from under his shoe we already sort of knew the distance between us was palpable. The air changed drastically. I was choking on our shared feelings of doubt. "Her name is Elsa," He said. "And she's beautiful."

"I know," I replied, sucking down smoke. "I can feel her beauty through the door," And then I marched away.

I haven't seen Nicholas since.

Now, the first time I met Elsa, really met her, or maybe knew of her existence, like how she was a real person behind the door I grew to glare at every now and then, was through the mornings. I found my relief in coffee. It covered my smoking addiction, my crying addiction, my eating addiction, but never actually settled my Elsa addiction. So, once in a while I would knock on her door, leave coffee by the side and crawl back into my apartment to get ready for school. When I walked out, the coffee was gone.

It was one of the happiest moments of my life, not seeing the cup there, knowing that Elsa was alive and real. It confirmed my thoughts on her that she wasn't just this shut in. There was still some sort of connection. There was still hope to bond our weird tentative relationship.

Soon enough, the coffee passes became a regular thing. I'd bring the coffee to her door, knock and leave. As time went by, my deliveries rose to a frequent, every day sort of occurrence. I would say a soft hello when I knocked. Sometimes I would tell a strange story. But talking to a door everyday does things to you. Makes you a bit crazy. A bit defenseless towards the onslaught of friendship. Most of my conversations at that point were one sided. I didn't have many friends. I didn't want any. I just wanted-

"Elsa?" I knocked softly. "I brought your coffee again. I added two sugars this time instead of one," I laughed to block out the silence. "I feel as if you're the type to love sweet things. I love sweet things too. Like chocolate."

She never replied like usual. I nodded towards no one in particular and walked off, immune to the ignorance.

It was during the summer when I first heard Elsa speak. I stopped talking to the boys completely. They were in the past, forgotten, old news.

I had no classes, so I found myself sitting by her door, talking to her, myself, anyone that was listening, more and more. I'd ramble about the boys and our games. I'd ramble about chocolate. I'd ramble about family. I never really focused on the break up. I contained that side of me. I bottled my feelings in order to keep Elsa at bay. In order for her to stay and listen. If she was ever really listening to begin with. And once in a while, I was glad for the door, it blocked my tears. Sometimes, I would cradle the wood, pretending it was Elsa. Beautiful Elsa.

"Did you like the coffee?" I asked one morning, after the cup was gone. There was silence again, yet for no particular reason, it outraged me. Usually, I maintained my annoyance with the answer of silence, but that day I was really expecting a reply. When it didn't come, I blew up. "I've been bringing you coffees for a year. The least you can do is thank me..."

I was aggravated. Rightly so.

"I talk to you all day long. I tell you everything... But-" I grunted. "What's the point? It's been so long and I haven't even heard your voice!"

I slam my fist against the door and wince at the pain. Cradling my fingers, I whispered, "You really are an Ice Queen."

I was crying, suddenly. Big fat tears sinking down my cheeks at so many failed attempts. So many times I've tried and never succeeded. I dreamt of Elsa that night, and I haven't stopped ever since.

The next morning, I knocked on her door and smiled dumbly at the ground. "Hey," I shuffled. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I was upset about something and-" I knocked on the door again. "I brought you coffee. It's really no big deal about the money either I mean- it doesn't bother me," I laughed. "Is it strange that I love when the cup outside your door is missing?" I laughed again, softer. "It's the perfect thing to start my day, really it is."

I could feel her anger. Or maybe...sadness?

The cool door rested against my forehead and I bit my lip in panic. "And you're not an Ice Queen," I whispered. "You're the warmest thing I've ever had," I smiled. "Warmer than our coffees."

I placed her drink down beside my feet. And the first thing I felt was the shift of wind, colder than usual. And I leaned close to her door to listen. "Elsa?"

There was a noise, a shadow under the door frame, my mouth was open, my eyes wide with disbelief. And I desperately moved closer to the barrier between us, listening intently. To hear her voice. Her beautiful voice. I was shaking and holding my breath in order to grasp any sort of words or phrases.

"Elsa?"

There was silence and I fell to my knees, eyes searching under the door frantically, clawing to catch a glimpse at the very thing I've been adoring for a year.

The first thing I saw on Elsa, before anything else, were her eyes underneath the slit of a front door. Wide, fearful, blue, beautiful, big, wet- everything I always imagined her eyes to be. I touched the door with my free hand, my head awkwardly against the floor as we locked eyes and stayed still in anticipation. Who would talk first? Would we talk at all? It was the first contact we had ever made. And I couldn't help but imagine Elsa at the other side of her door, in my same position. It quickened my heart to realize the only thing holding me back from hugging her, touching her, maybe even...kissing her, was a thin piece of wood with a handle.

"I...actually- I sort of like my coffee iced..." She replied with the softest voice I'd ever heard. "But I appreciate your hot coffee immensely."

I found myself crying, with joy, happiness, relief. Absolute relief. "You're real," I said. "You're really real."

And she didn't reply back, but instead hurried deeper into her apartment. I laid on that floor for what felt like hours. My eyes closed, my smile warm. I was in my own temporary heaven. Elsa talked to me. Elsa talked to me.

Elsa talked to me.

She didn't talk to me again for another month, but I still continued my daily one sided conversations with her through the door. I'd sit on the floor and tap my hands against the wood. I'd play out small little beats for her and listen delightfully to the soft content sighs just beyond our barrier. It hit me suddenly, like a truck: I was in love with Elsa, before I ever even heard her voice. It wasn't Elsa I was in love with, but her whole being. Her whole body. The idea of her. The thought of her.

"You talk about them a lot," She muttered once to me, softly, creeping into my ear through the door.

I was gasping for air and I pushed my ear so close to the wood I was sure to get splinters. "Christ," I said. "Christ, Elsa, your voice is beautiful."

She didn't reply for a while. And I shifted awkwardly, thinking that I scared her off.

"Why do you talk about them, the boys, so much?"

I smile. "They were my best friends for the first few months in the city. They were my family for a while."

"Why don't you see them anymore?"

It was a reasonable question. I had never talked about my disdain from the boys and their clan of merry men. I was too afraid to convey my feelings, but I decided to take the jump. "Well, I loved them all, still do sometimes, but… Hans sort of ruined it for me."

"Oh."

I growled then, my eyes narrowing. My thoughts clouded with my ex; Hans, with his charming smile, his gleaming eyes. I hated that I loved him at some point. It burned me to know that I could ever love such two different people ever in my life. Elsa was the best crush I'd ever have, while- "Hans," His voice snaked out from under my breath.

Elsa listened.

"I liked Hans a lot. He was-" I gritted my teeth. "Hans was amazing, in the beginning. But he lied to me. He cheated on me and-" I laughed bitterly. "This is the first time I'm actually talking about him aloud let alone-"

Suddenly there were tears down my cheeks, my eyes wet and red from the rebellion of emotions. I was crying, palms shoved in my eyes as far as they can go, praying for the tears to stop. "I'm sorry," I said. "I never hear your voice and when I finally do-" I have to be crying. The rest of my speech is cut off with a deep sob. And I felt Elsa through the door, stronger than ever before. The wood moved slightly, which I believed to be her weight adjusting close to mine.

I leaned heavily against the wood and cried my eyes out. My aggressions, my pain, for the past year were finally released through fat thick salty tears. And I never once imagined to ever feeling comfort through a door. But yet, there was something so fragile and gentle about Elsa's lack of a body. I felt her soul. Her essence. Caring about me. Comforting me with her silence and grace. I could feel her. I could feel her hand touching my cheek and wiping the tears away. I could smell her hair, once being pushed into her shoulder for a hug. Elsa was there. She was always there. And I cradled the wood, hiccupped and sobbed until I said a soft goodbye and ran to my room.

The next morning, I didn't bring her a coffee.

I was embarrassed beyond belief. Mortified that she saw such a side of me.

I stopped my deliveries. I stopped knocking. I even found myself peering away from her door, the very pinnacle part of our relationship, whenever I passed by to reach my apartment. I was still so meek, terrified of Elsa and her comfort. I made new friends. They were different, not as verbose and calm like the boys, but they at least answered me back when I spoke to them. We would all go out. Get drunk. Never eat. My grades dropped. My eyes drooped. My kissing became better. And soon enough, the door I once cuddled against for comfort became this terrible little reminder of all my faults, my weaknesses. And soon enough, I hated the door. So that meant I hated Elsa.

Now, the day I truly met Elsa, where we met without a door holding back our gazes, like distant pen pals who were finally meeting for the first time, was during one of the worst hangovers of my life. It was strange too, our little introduction. We were neighbors for a year at that point, yet, our final meeting felt more wholesome and real than any of my other greetings around the city. It could have been the dreadful waiting, the one sided conversations, the agonizing mystery of Elsa, that created such a surreal meeting. But then again, even listening to her voice caused my heart to pound brilliantly in my chest, and for once, I wasn't too surprised to feel such anxiety when finally meeting a girl my age. Because I loved Elsa before I ever saw her. I loved her with all my heart. And maybe still do.

I knocked on her door one night, after a wild time at a bar with a few pals. They left me at my apartment, dazed, drunk out of my mind, high, confused, sick - everything you would never want to be at once, and it was horrible. My head thunked against her door, and I confused her apartment with mine. So I tried the lock with my key several times. Remembering this now, I realize I probably scared the living hell out of Elsa. It was midnight. Her doorknob was jingling. And I was breathing heavily under the door. She probably confused me for some sort of deranged killer. I remember the noise of her chains unlocking, slowly, distant, echoing beyond the door. It's faded. The memories. And I honestly wouldn't have it any other way.

Everything else about that night is a blur, but I didn't meet Elsa when I was drunk, gladly. I met her in the morning, when I was heavily sick and sober.

I awoke, my head buzzing, my mouth dry and tasteless. The sheets (not mine) were curled around my legs and frame, practically tying me to the bed (also not mine). And I found the dimness of the room oddly comforting my confusion. Rays of light, peeked from the shades, hitting every frame on the wall, every little trinket on the dresser, neatly placed and obviously cleaned. I thought, briefly, that I was in heaven. And then I realized the strange room was way too feminine for any guy's bedroom, so I instantly came to the idea of homosexuality. And that was pretty much my coming out experience, short and flittered away without a single care.

I stood from the bed, grumbled in my hands, searched for my so called "hook up" and came across a gorgeous girl standing by the doorway holding, in her hands, two coffees.

You can imagine my intense fear, my intense arousal, my intense emotions flaring and zooming around inside my body. I was frozen, I was moving, I was still, I was running, I couldn't breathe, couldn't see, my vision was blinded by the most perfect girl I've ever come across in my entire life. She was better than the boys, with their long black coats and shiny shoes. No, she wasn't grungy New York. She was posh New York. Uptown New York. She was fresh New York. She was clean sidewalk New York and pin tight skirt New York. She was my kind of New York, the kind that smokes out on a balcony they use, instead of staring out of it like some sort of dreamer; the kind that wears scarves when it's cold and hats when it's hot; the kind that smiles at a stranger, but doesn't reveal too much. She was my new, New York City. She was my neighbor.

I knew she was Elsa the moment we locked eyed in the deafness of her room.

I didn't need to ask.

"I brought you coffee," She muttered sweetly, as if we've been friends all our lives. Like our meeting was just as common and simple as any other friendly banter. As if this was a reunion. "And I remembered how much you like to talk about chocolate, which means you like sweet things...so I put in three sugars." She bit her lip while holding the coffee out with a slim, slender, pale arm.

I was still and lifeless. I didn't really know what to say.

Hey. I love you.

Hey, so this is what you look like. Wow.

Hey, I really want to push you up against a-

I nod, feverishly and duck down at my feet and grab the coffee and never drink it. My nerves were as frittered as a schoolboy speaking to his crush for the first time. And now looking back, our meeting was sort of like that all along. A girl finally meeting her crush and unable to speak past a numb tongue.

"I also have Advil," Elsa smiled, holding out her hand with two pills lying in the center. "You were pretty disoriented last night, so I can imagine the headache you must have."

I had completely forgotten about my headache at the time. But the moment she mentioned it, the burning sensation came flying back into my senses. My hand flew to my forehead, patting the clamminess down as I grabbed the pills with shaky fingers and swallowed them. I drank my coffee. Which was perfect, just the way I liked it.

I realized then that I hadn't spoken a word yet. So, once I regained my voice, everything sort of just, tumbled out. "Your bed is so comfortable- this room is so pretty, do you collect things? I love your wallpaper color, it matches your eyes- the coffee is perfect- you're perfect- wait what?"

Elsa suddenly laughed, a hand over her mouth, and her fingers were the most precious things I had ever seen, so I blushed and fumbled with my coffee and stared at my feet, muttering harsh whispers to myself in embarrassment.

"I made you breakfast," She said. "You can come inside when it's ready."

And when she was halfway through the door, she turned and said, "Your clothes are on the nightstand by the way."

I looked down and blushed a color beyond red.

She was out of the door quickly and I stood in her bedroom for a while, gathering everything I had just seen and thought. I had embarrassed myself, truly, out of nerves. But my shuddering, stuttering heart, couldn't keep my thoughts of absolute curiosity at bay. Why was I in Elsa's apartment? It felt like we skipped a huge step concerning our friendship. We went from talking, to sleeping in each other's beds. I was shell shocked, delightfully not expecting such an untimely change of pace.

Suddenly, I was searching her room, briskly walking around her carpet and touching everything I could. My fingertips swiped the top of her dresser, a dark wood, and toyed meticulously with the trinkets on top. Then I held my hands back from tugging her drawers open, never allowing myself to invade someone else's privacy. But I felt I had a right to know Elsa. She knew everything about me. I was the one who talked most of the time.

She didn't talk at all...

She knew me better than I knew her...

Suddenly, while grabbing my clothes and yanking them on, some sort of bravado quaked through my chest. I rose from the bed sheets and stomped into her kitchen and left the coffee on her table. With a look of absolute admiration I said loudly, "What is this?" And I wasn't talking about the coffee.

I was loud and abrasive. Elsa turned from her stove quickly, hands clasped to her chest, eyes wide. "I'm sorry?" Her voice was so different from mine, soft, careful.

"What is-" I rubbed my eyes in aggravation, to hopefully calm myself down. "Did you carry me in from the hall?"

She nodded. "You must have thought this was your apartment last night and-" I watched her hands clasp tighter around each finger, as if to still herself. I only began to realize how cold it was in her apartment, and I swear, for a moment, when I huffed a breath out...I could see clouds of white. "I couldn't get your apartment door open so I thought bringing you in here would- I'm sorry if you're uncomfortable-"

"Did we-" My voice is strained, I have so many questions. Yet the wrong one of the bunch slipped out first. "Did we sleep together?"

Her eyes were wide. "God no!" She was nervous. "No, I wouldn't dare take advantage-"

"I'm not saying that you would- You wouldn't ever do that, I know that," I winced because I really didn't know if Elsa was that type of girl. I didn't know her at all. "But-" I fumbled with my hands too, tucking hairs behind my ear every chance I got. "I just don't know what I would do...if I was drunk around you, I mean-"

She was confused now, eyebrows close. And there's a bone chilling silence lurking between us. The only noise was the sizzling of bacon. And I was feverishly hugging my arms to keep some warmth against my bones. It was summer. I understood the necessity of keeping cool. But not freezing. I was so cold I actually wanted to go outside in the sweltering city heat. While I was shivering, Elsa was fine as could be, wearing a T-shirt and some sweats, her hair pulled up and her eyes shifting between my face and the wall behind me.

Our differences were already so apparent. So clear. And it had been months since we last talked, and by talked, I mean through a fucking door.

I was angry again, which was unfair to Elsa for helping me. But rage was the only emotion I could grasp onto at the time. It remained clear, throughout all the other expressions on my face, like sorrow, happiness, arousal - I could barely keep my breathing in check, let alone control my feelings.

But Elsa, always brave, spoke first with determination. "Today was the first time I left this apartment in years."

Her voice was shaky, but I listened intently while swallowing my pride.

"I've been in this house for three years. I never left. And when I saw you, I knew I just had to help-"

She bit her lip in frustration, her eyes wet. I felt like crying. Maybe because of the confession before me. Maybe because Elsa revealed such a weakness before a stranger like myself.

"You make everything better," She decided to say finally. "You make everything better," she repeated with a stronger, firmer tone.

And I was mesmerized and defeated by love. I nodded, stiffly. "Thanks for the coffee, then."

She fumbled with her hands. "It's no problem," She smiled faintly. "And I forgot how fun the city actually is. Though the coffee shop has really changed since the last time I've been there."

"Yeah?" I smiled bashfully, reaching for my own coffee to take another sip.

She smiled back. "They changed the chairs. They used to be a brighter shade of red, and well, I liked the color so much I-" She laughed. "What am I even saying right now?"

I shrug. "I have no idea. I just- hearing your voice still sort of...surprises me."

"Yes," She nodded. "Your voice is much higher without a door in between us."

We laughed. It was awkward. It was weird. This whole situation was painfully uncomfortable. But we both loved every second of it. You could tell by the looks on our faces. We enjoyed the pensive little conversations. We basked in the terrible silences. We loved looking at each other.

We were so different, I realized. While Elsa sat in her chair softly, I shuffled in mine. Her hands rested on her lap while I picked at the nails. Her knees were below the table, while mine braced against it. When we laughed, I would howl and she would chuckle. When we ate, I talked through bites of food and she waited to swallow and then begin. And at some point in our conversation, while sitting at her kitchen table, I looked out of her window in between fits of laughter. "It's snowing in July," I mumbled out with such disbelief.

We continued to have weather like that for the rest of the year. It really all started on that day. Everything started on that day. Soon enough I was paying visits frequently. Soon enough I took my place on her counter. Soon enough I slept in her bed. We would watch the snow fall in the summer, and we would drink our coffees with delight.

My feelings for Elsa faded softly over time. As boyfriends passed by. As girlfriends trekked along the road. At the end of the day, Elsa was the one I came home to. I would knock on her door those late nights and weep openly in her arms or cuddle with her in bed.

She became my rock. She became my New York City.

"Hey," Hans once presented himself to me. He was calling at me from up above his balcony, smoking a large cigar. He looked like his brothers now, finally part of the pack.

I paid him no mind, but waved instead. I hadn't seen him in a year. We didn't even grace past each other in the apartment. I was positive he moved.

"Did you meet the Snow Queen?" He asked from up above.

I couldn't believe he was trying to have a conversation from such a distance. But I followed him anyway. He unintentionally reminded me of Elsa's little nickname. The little joke we teased her with, unknowingly. I choked down guilt, as I remembered calling her that for the longest time.

With a smile I nodded. "Her name is Elsa."

He laughed towards the sky and then tapped his ashes at me. "And?" He was egging me on, leaning over the balcony, eyeing me with such interest.

"And she's beautiful," I replied simply.

Hans nodded and sucked on his cigar a bit loosely. Then he bent over, I was sure he was going to fall, and said cheerfully, "You look so much happier now, Anna. I'm glad."

He always was a cheeky little bastard. So I smiled back and dodged his ashes. "I am?" I questioned innocently, wanting to hear him say it once more.

"You are," He confirmed.

We both didn't say a goodbye when I climbed into the apartment. And I didn't expect him to come rushing down those stairs just to pet my hair with his large fingers, and he didn't expect me to come rushing up, eager to clean his apartment. It was okay like that. I was happy with that acknowledgment. Either way, I had busier things to attend to, which meant delivering Elsa her drink before my own became as cold as hers. When I knocked on her door, I found ash in my hair.

I haven't smoked since.


	3. Chapter 3

**Again, thanks for all the comments, reviews and follows! I'm really close to one hundred follows (which is kind of a goal of mine), so I'm really excited for how people will respond to this chapter. Again, I'm laying down some rules, but there is definitely sexual tension, feelings arising to the surface - I hope I did the first chapter justice concerning the "cock-blocking". (Though It was tough to write when on trains from NY to NJ, people looking over my shoulder to read my smut and lesbian sisters-from-other-misters fanfic, but whatever. I still did it. Bite me.)**

**And can you guys stop being so cute? Thanks. Appreciate it.**

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You Are - Chapter 3

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I'm meeting Elsa at Buddy's, a small cafe on the west side. It takes up a tiny square of New York. And I'm positive it's the only little piece of land, in my great city, that has absolutely no worth at all. The coffee is bland and burnt, the food tasteless, the seats worn down from overuse, and the tables chipped and torn. It's splendidly useless. And I'm sure the only way it makes its income is from weary travelers walking across the sidewalk, eager to warm their mouths due to the unexplainably cold weather we've been having in July. It's dirty. It's low-end. Grungy. But really, out of all my accusations towards Buddy's, I know the real reason why it's on the corner of main and market.

It's there for us.

It's especially there for Hans, since that's where he makes money. Though you would think one of his thirteen siblings would offer him a hand concerning cash, they would much rather stay on the sidelines and watch him suffer. They were the boys from back in the day. They really haven't changed at all. And neither have I, so much.

The thing about Buddy's is the silence it gets around twelve in the afternoon. By then, most of its customers are long gone for work and breaks are usually out at three. Either way, Elsa and I find its best to meet Hans around one o'clock-ish. It sets the mood. A few idle workers walking by, the sun just beginning to make that rise. It was far though. The distance was completely out of our way.

There is really no explanation concerning why Buddy's is our favorite cafe in all of New York.

Just is.

Probably for the same reason I keep tying my hair in two loosely applied braids every day. You get used to it. You get comfortable. You become blind to the weaknesses and faults. The only one who really transcends from this common rule though, is Elsa. She repeats the same habits every day, but doesn't grow tired or numb to the idea of change. She knows her style is repetitive. Yet, she doesn't fix it. Sometimes, things are so good that they can't be fixed. And sometimes, things are so good that they should be. In Elsa's mind, it's neither.

We met up on the dot, hugged, laughed outside in the bitter cold for a few minutes before crawling inside of the cafe. We sat at our usual booth and watched as Hans made his way over in an excited hop.

I grumble lowly, in my hands and Elsa turns her head towards me and leans to whisper in my ear, a habitual thing she's always done in public. "Be nice," She mutters.

And I smile gleefully. I'll be nice. God, I'll be so nice. Just keep whispering in my ear and I'll show you-

"My two favorite girls."

"Hans!" Elsa rejoiced, patting the empty chair next to hers and casting me a weary glance.

"Don't you dare sit, I want coffee," I command quickly, snapping my fingers at him.

The man smiles, flips out his booklet and jots down some notes, then bows sarcastically. "Anna, pleasure to see you this fine winter morning, my dear."

"It's summer," I mutter out, ignoring Elsa's looks of annoyance directed towards me and my foul mood.

"Not with the weather we've been having."

It's snowed all week long. Weather has been strange for these past four years. I'm convinced the world is ending. About time.

"It's snowing, so what?"

He deadpans. "It's July."

Elsa finally speaks, curling those slender fingers under her chin to gaze at Hans with absolute poise. She must be used to our bickering by now. It barely fazes her. Even though she's against my aggravations towards Hans, Elsa is pleasantly watching us grunt and mock one another. Once, it used to scare her; now it's only just another little quirk to our relationship.

She smiles, suddenly. And I never could understand how Elsa went from staring at me fearfully, to perfectly content. It was a skill I could never develop. Every emotion on my face isn't masked; it's out there for everyone to see. While I was more outgoing, Elsa remained personal. It really hasn't changed since the day we met. Probably never will. "I'll have a coffee too, Hans."

He winks at her. "Iced right?"

"Of course."

And they laugh while I sit in the corner and grumble softly. My arms folded and my eyes keenly looking at our salt and pepper shakers.

Hans and Elsa have bonded over the years. Though he was a bit timid to meet the Ice Queen, I'm convinced his sudden friendship with Elsa accumulated only for the reason that she's ridiculously beautiful. Really. There's no perspective that's unattractive or the slightest bit ugly.

"You like your coffee with two sugars right, Anna?"

"Three," Elsa confirms, shutting back my insult with a soft smile towards me.

I blush crimson. She knows me so well. She knows me better than my ex. I stick my tongue out when Hans turns to go get our drinks.

Suddenly, there's an arm around the back of my chair and Elsa is close, closer than ever before. I turn my gaze towards the door, thinking she wants to whisper in my ear again, but no. My face is grabbed and softy turned towards her heady and determined gaze, and I'm sure death is coming for me. Death by love. I'm so close to melting in my seat. It's summer. It's incredibly hot. I can't breathe.

I feel myself sinking into her hand, pulling closer, my eyes worshipping her face. Every nook and cranny, every little follicle and tint to her cheeks, I lap up like an animal. I'm furiously scanning her features. She's worried, consciously thinking of the right words to say. I glance at her lips, just barely, because we were so close to kissing a week ago and this sudden urgency of emotions just comes over me. I want to kiss her again. I want to kiss Elsa. I want her-

"Don't be mean to Hans, Anna," She whispers. Her cool breath faintly skimming across my face. Her breath was never hot, not even when we were snuggling on her bed. Elsa is cold. Her body temperature and breath, freezing. Her apartment bone chilling. She loves the cold. She basks in it. I don't think I've ever seen her shiver in my life. God, she smells like flowers.

"I-" I clear my throat. "I'm not," My voice is damp with arousal. It's so nervously obvious that I can't help but shift my eyes away as she keeps my head still with her beautiful fingers.

"Yes, you are," she turns away to watch Hans scuttle about. "He's changed."

"I know he's changed. But this is as nice as I'm going to get."

"I know you two have been..." she rears off the subject and eyes my twitching hands. And then - god my fingers are sweaty when they lace within hers. I hold back my gasp, yet a tiny voice makes its way through the back of my throat. Her fingers are beautiful, just like the eyes peering at me. I was stuck in Elsa's gaze, her grip, her voice, I was done for. "You don't have to be so nervous around him," Her voice lowers a bit, whispers, quiet, frail.

I get my voice back. "I'm not nervous."

"How about tense? You're very tense around Hans."

"Well, can you blame me?"

She blinks softly, and tilts her head in wonder. God damn it.

"Okay, you've got a point there," The arm behind my chair wraps around my back and brings me close. I know my cheeks are on fire. I'm like a fish out of water. "But we've all been friends for a year now, Anna. Isn't it about time to let the grudges go?"

"What are you, my therapist?"

She laughs softly, and it's the first time her hand isn't around her lips to stifle the burst of joy, they're too busy with my sweaty palm and equally sweaty back. I let out a nervous chuckle, because soon enough, every damn look she gives me is going to tear me apart and rip me in half. I'm not ready for this sort of engagement. I can't be aroused 24/7. It isn't right to my body. Or my damn emotions.

We almost kissed a week ago. We were so close to it. I look at her lips once more. We're still close enough.

And for a second there, it's silent. The voices around us are numb. Hans has disappeared. It's just me and Elsa, sitting in the worst cafe in New York, gazing at each other, swimming in the silence of eye contact. I'm still and I work my hand around hers, toying with her fingers wrapped around mine. My pointer finger skims under her palm. My eyes shift between both pools of blue before me. Lips quivering for a taste. I want to kiss her again. I don't care. She must have noticed I've been looking at her lips for the past hour. It's so obvious. I want it to be obvious.

"Elsa," I mutter. For some reason. As if to still her nervous lip biting.

"Anna-" Elsa looks away from me to Hans, her arms slip from my back and hand and they rest on the table, curled up. I miss the contact immediately. And I can't help like I've been caught with my hand in a cookie jar. Or in this case, leaning in to kiss my, supposedly, best friend. I'm blushing softly, trying to look anywhere but at Hans, to calm my heart.

Though while Elsa's attention is on the muttering fool, I continue to glance at her fingers, knowing perfectly well where they had been moments ago. Around my fingertips. Around my back. Brushing around me softly with quiet, daintily, little flicks. I'm shivering, but from the memory, not the snow outside.

"What are you two girls chatting about?" Hans mocks, placing our coffees down and giving us looks of interest. I growl and Elsa glares at me before turning back at him with a grin.

"Getting Anna a therapist."

"Great."

I spit my coffee back into my cup, real smooth, and look at Elsa with a blush. "No- That's-"

They both chuckle at me, and I sink in my seat. Then a look at Elsa has me completely enamored. I'm restless in my seat, and try to change the subject quickly. "The coffee sucks here."

"You say that every time you order it."

"Maybe you make the coffee bad, Hans," I roll my eyes and look at Elsa. "I mean you are the only waiter we ever get here."

"Because I am the only waiter here," He turns to check is other tables. "Which means I don't have time to be talking to a beautiful girl," he glances at Elsa, then me. "And her little mutt," And he's gone, gingerly sweeping around the room and taking orders. Hans was always a cheery guy, bright, warm, smiling. Even when insults are thrown at him, he laughs. And I can't help but adore that about him.

Elsa nods towards me, and hushes. "See? That wasn't that bad of a conversation."

"I'm gonna be sick," I mumble in my hands and discreetly nibble on my pointer finger in thought, gazing off at Hans as he works. Every so often I glance at Elsa until she sips her drink and then covers her mouth, eyes wide, cheeks full of cold coffee.

I start laughing, bent over the table, rattling our coffees as Elsa begins to swallow and shudder. "The coffee really is bad here." She mumbles with shock. Staring angrily at her drink.

I'm too busy fighting laugher to even consider what she said.

"Why do we keep coming here?" She wonders aloud, peering into her iced coffee with mild disgust.

"Because I work here!" Hans calls out from behind the counter while pouring two more cups for his other costumers.

Elsa and I give each other a look. We laugh, and then we get up to leave, but Hans points at us and mutters for us to sit.

Shockingly, other than boredom and the numbness of habit, there is a reason why Elsa and I came to Buddy's today. Though our trek here was dangerous, due to the never ending snowstorm that hit us a week ago (the same one that also ruined me and Elsa's kiss), the city has been on partial lockdown. And I feel like I'm staring in an apocalyptic movie. Me and Elsa...soul survivors, searching endlessly for our safe haven and then discover that we, ourselves, are what we've been desperately searching for. The movie ends with us...kissing. Credits roll.

I glance at Elsa once more, feverishly staring. I could stare at Elsa for hours, really I could. Sometimes, when I was drunk, too drunk to sleep with the stirring of nausea, I'd watch Elsa curl beside me on her bed. Thick with exhaustion, she would wrap her arms around me, thin, calm, pale, little things, tangled in my sleepwear. If you asked me what my dream place is, my ultimate spot of relaxation, I'd say that I've already found it in Elsa's arms, on her bed, in her freezing room, with the blankets pulled to our chins.

"So, I called Elsa here for a reason," Hans begins, stepping to our table while wiping his hands with a towel. He sits beside Elsa and gives me a look. "And I guess Anna too since she follows you around everywhere you go, Els."

Elsa laughs softly and then gives me a smile that could light up the entire world. "It's really more like the other way around."

"No way, Els-" I stutter. Damn it. But get my footing back. "I'm like a puppy dog, I swear. When it comes to you- gosh I-You're such a leader. I swear-"

"Wow, cute," Hans interrupts sarcastically. "Look at Anna, for once, unable to speak clearly."

I blush, horribly, and glance at Elsa again who's still gazing at me and expecting me to speak as if my ex didn't just mess up my romantic speech...of friendliness. "I'm just saying, Hans- I'm the follower. Elsa is the leader."

"Well, it wasn't like that in the beginning," he chuckles leaning on his arm, elbow firmly planted to the table. He looks so lazy. Yet firm. And it irritates me. "Elsa followed you around everywhere, remember?"

"It was so embarrassing," She says softly, blush tinting her cheeks. "But, personally, I think there's no follower in me and Anna's relationship."

Relationship. That almost makes it sound as if-

"If you want one of us, then you're going to get the other," She continues with a firm nod.

"Like a two for one sort of thing."

"Two peas in a pod."

"Picked off of the same grape vine."

"All or nothing."

"I get it," Hans rolls his eyes and doodles on the table with his pen. I peer at his drawings, and stay fixated on them before he starts talking. "Anyway, girls, I have a cousin coming here soon."

"How soon," I ask while sipping my coffee and grimacing at the taste.

"Like a week," Hans stops doodling to look back at his art, and then dives in again. "His name is Kristoff. Sweet guy. Kinda cute. His beak's a little big, but nothing a nose job won't fix." He flicks his pen up, and points it at Elsa, "Now, here's where you come in, my dear."

Elsa chuckles nervously and I slap the pen from Hans grip. He glares at me and retrieves it.

"Two years ago Elsa-" He smiles and ponders for a moment. Maybe reconnecting with his brain. Or trying to figure out the proper wording. He's thinking, that's all that matters. Something he doesn't do often. "Look, I'm gonna be frank here-"

"When are you not?" I growl out, looking at his sketches on the table. I can still insult him, even if I'm sort of not paying attention. A skill I learned well from when we were dating.

"Elsa, you were a shut in two years ago," He concludes, as if it's new information to us all.

I roll my eyes at his seriousness and gaze at Elsa who's shifting nervously in her seat. I want to speak for her. I really do. I always do. I protect Elsa from people like Hans, arrogant children who don't know how to bring up a fragile topic up lightly. But it's a nice change of pace, to watch Elsa shift and turn and figure herself out before my eyes. So, I bite my tongue and jam my nails into the underside of the table, in absolute strain. I'm holding back. Watching.

"And Krsitoff is kinda weird-"

"What are you trying to say," I mumble out before clasping my mouth shut once again.

Hans leaps back as if burnt. "Gosh she really is like a little puppy, Elsa," he looks at me, a huge grin on his lips. "Or a guard dog."

I sip my coffee distastefully and glance away.

"So what does Kristoff being...different have to do with me?" Elsa asks simply, regaining her composure quickly. I'm impressed, and I'm back to staring at her with absolute pride. Her back is straight, eyes locked, mouth tight, hands clasped on the table.

Hans leans in, his hand smudging his art. "You were weird like him, too. Like two years ago."

I choke on my coffee. I'm incredibly insulted. But Elsa looks as calm and as happy as the second she walked into this fine establishment. "He was a shut in too?" She mutters softly, flicking her eyes to me quickly.

"No, he's just very antisocial," Hans passes me a glance. "And he doesn't have someone like Anna to push him out of his comfort zone."

"More like force," Elsa passes me a glance. But I know she's teasing, so I slap her arm lightly.

"So…you walk around with him. Get him used to the city. Maybe show him your apartment. I think he's gonna stay here for a while so," He shuffles a look between us. "We good?"

"That's why we came all the way out here?" I stand. "Just so you could ask us favor that could have been easily done over the phone?"

Hans shrugs and wipes his art away with his thumb. "I also missed Elsa."

She chuckles softly.

"This place sucks," I mutter, sipping my coffee once more just to spit it back into my cup. "And I hate the coffee, too."

"Yet you keep coming back," And Hans smiles that big stupid charming grin of his and I'm positivity annoyed. But we both glance at Elsa who is thinking deeply, her lips twitch in thought while her eyes graze over out table.

She won't do it.

"I'll do it."

"What," I'm the first to speak and spill my coffee, sloppily. Hans jumps up in excitement, as I feverishly clean up my mess.

"That's great, Elsa!" He pats her shoulder lightly. "I knew I could count on you."

I'm too busy on the floor, wiping up my mess, to see Elsa's expression of such a compliment. And it's fine that way. She can't see the absolute curiosity on my face. I want to support her, but I can't help feel like Hans is hiding something. I tuck of hair behind my ear and watch Hans walk away from our table.

I hear the shuffle of chairs and Elsa stops me. She says, "I'm gonna ask him to wrap up my coffee."

And I groan. "You hate the coffee here."

"I know but," she glances at Hans again. "It's the nice thing to do."

I shrug and Elsa runs to the bathroom. So, I'm left to wait by the counter to look away from Hans and towards the doodles he drew all down the countertop. I have the strangest thought that they look similar to someone else's art I've seen. And I can't help but feel like their familiar. The lines are sharp, jagged, yet curve at all the right places. They're flowers, hidden behind ketchup bottles and packets of jam. I shove a few shakers to the side, and two little daintily drawn flowers are strewn beneath them. I find myself smiling wildly.

"You draw now?" I mutter out, placing my knees on my seat and spreading over the counter to watch his little drawings play out. "Since when?" I ask when he nods.

He shrugs while cleaning a few mugs with a towel. "Recently, I've been into art."

And then I realize it. My smile spreads even bigger and I'm nodding slowly. "How's Nicholas?"

I haven't asked about Nicholas in forever, so I understand when Hans stops his cleaning to stare at me puzzlingly. Maybe he's surprised that I still know about him. Or maybe he's a bit sentimental that I can still remember Nicholas' art. I shrug. And he shakes his head lightly. "He's sick. Bad sick."

I stop leering at his drawings to give Hans a quick glance. "Oh gosh," I gulp audibly. "Gosh, I'm sorry," My voice is little. Small. Like how I feel.

He shrugs. "It's whatever," He jeeps cleaning. "He's teaching me a few things so..."

He eases off of the subject, so I don't push it. But I can't help the urge to see him. Nicholas. My Nicholas. I guess he really isn't my anything anymore. But picturing him on a hospital bed, wires strewn around him, entering his holes and his skin - it makes me want to vomit. I hold back my tongue, in respect. It's the first moment I truly realize that I'm really not part of the boys anymore. It's heart breaking.

We stand and sit in silence, but I continue to gaze over his art. There was something incredibly off about Hans today. Sure, he always acts like a smart ass, a sneaky little boy, mischievously playing tricks on unsuspecting victims, but there is something there. Hidden behind the smiles he pulls.

I know Hans. I know Hans well. Well enough to know when that little smile he's been putting on all day is hiding some horrible little secret. A secret bigger than Nicholas' surprising illness. I scoot down the counter, loudly, and catch his attention when I'm half way there.

"What?"

I nod. "Tell me."

He opens his mouth, but shuts it quickly. And then a smile, wide, blossoming, like his flower art, grows on his face. "No."

I scoff. "Hans, I know you. We both know each other."

He laughs, excitingly. Like it's all one big game to him. Life is a game. He really is like the boys now. "I knew I couldn't hide anything from you," he's grinning now, excitingly, skipping down the other side of the counter so I can follow him. But I don't. I stand my ground, but raise high in my seat to yell over the counter-top.

"I know you better than all your brothers combined."

"Which is why you should know what I'm hiding already."

I bit my lip. "Is Kristoff real?"

He laughs. "Trust me he's real," he glances at me, finally. "And very weird."

I continue watching him clean. And I know I only have a few more minutes left to my questioning before Elsa comes back from the restrooms. I scoot down again, but this time I try a different approach.

"You could have brought up his weirdness in a better way," I mutter. "I think you sounded sort of-"

"Rude?" He winces, and plays with the hairs behind his neck. Hans and I always did have a thing with nervous hair gestures. It was something we always had in common. Still do.

"Kinda."

He plays with the drawings, poking them with his fingers, and I'm entranced and watching him. "What are you planning?" I ask again, hushed. I lean in and try to peek at his ducking expression.

He grins. "What do you think?"

And it's just the way he says it. The way his eyes sagged. His pearly teeth showing. I know. I really know. I can read his mind. I can see right through him. And I gasp, and then pull back, to suppress my answer. "No way," I lean forwards once more, my face inches from his. "You're trying to get Elsa a boyfriend!"

He's around the counter in a flash, giggling all the way towards my seat. His hand clasps over my mouth and I grunt in irritation. "Shut up, she'll hear you," He whispers in my ear. I feel a bit queasy, a bit sick.

I sulked in my seat, wrapping my head in my hands and groaning lowly. Christ, Elsa was going to be taken away from me, soon she'd be on a date, frittering around in sundresses. Losing her virginity to some- Relative to Hans. Hans. I'm screaming internally, or maybe externally. And it feels like my stomach has dropped down to my feet and I'm suddenly holding back the fiercest tears my eyes have ever accumulated. God, I knew it was too late. I knew time would officially run out. It was only a matter of time before Elsa found a boyfriend. No, before a boyfriend found Elsa.

Elsa was small. Frail. Even though she had an attitude to that little body of hers, she still needed to be handled with fragility. Boys are so rough and brutal. And how would she ever be able to bring up her strange past?

I'm jealous. Angry. Terrified. My whole future hasn't been disrupted, yet one of my closest friendships has just begun to slowly crumble before my eyes. I'm gasping for air, trying to figure out a plan out of sheer desperation.

Once I look up through shaky fingers Hans is humming to himself and cleaning again behind the counter. I'm filled with dread.

"She won't go out with him." I announce proudly. As if to convince myself.

"Yes, she will.

She will. I know she will. Elsa loves boys. "She has never dated before. She's new the whole thing."

"Which gives us more reason to pair them up."

That's such a good point. "They won't last long."

"Yes, they will."

It's true, they probably will. They'd get married. Have kids. I'd be that old friend, left in the dust. Marrying a man I didn't love and watching Elsa…watching her-

"You really can't do this to me."

"You?" He turns then, but his smile is wide. Like he knows something. Like he-

It's two shockers in one day. And my face is as red as a tomato. "How did-"

"Like you said Anna, we know each other."

I hug my coat closer to maybe stop my shuddering. But Christ. "How long?"

"How long did I know? Or how long have you had a crush on Elsa?"

I'm around the counter in seconds, my hands over his mouth, pushing him to the floor and under the cabinets and into the center of the earth. My eyes are eyeing the bathroom, and I'm muttering to him in whispers, harsh and low. I don't even know what I'm saying; I'm just trying to scare him. Or maybe control my restless heart from beating so fast.

"Don't you dare tell her anything…" I mutter softly, still glaring at him.

He's smiling. "Tell her what? That her best friend has a huge crush on her and that she gets off-"

I blush wildly and gape. "I don't- I can't- I'm not like that!"

"It's not if you're like that or not, Anna," He pushes me back. "If you like her, you like her."

My lips are sealed tightly and I'm trying to figure out how to convince Hans what to do. He always did have a way of making the most simplest of things complicated and vice versa. But that's one of his best qualities, making the craziest of situations or ideas, seem so easy. It's one of the very few reasons why I fell for him so quickly. I was enamored of Hans' clear thinking. As if his brain is like the forest after a fire.

"Please don't tell her," I mutter out finally, my vision blurring from the faint progression of tears.

I can tell Hans is surprised by my reaction, and before he opens his mouth-

"Guys?"

I rise up first, and quickly fix my hair. "Elsa! How was the peeing- I mean- Did you go to the bathroom? Was it fun? What?"

Elsa grabs her coffee from the counter, wrapped and ready to go. "Um," She laughs nervously then shifts an eye to Hans, who also rises from the floor. "Am I interrupting something?"

We both give quick glances at each other and once Hans starts laughing hysterically, I blush redder than a firetruck and round the corner only to hit my hip on the way out. I howl in pain and land on the floor and at that point Hans is on the floor with me, still laughing. Bawling.

Elsa is the only one rushing to my aid quickly, her hands holding my body upright; she's peering into my face. But I don't even have time to focus on the words coming from her thick lips for once.

"Is it that obvious?" I ask aloud to the cafe, the world, Hans.

And once Elsa and I leave, I hear Hans say, very faintly, "Yes."

And I know we have to talk about it soon; my crush - no obsession - with Elsa. But I can't help urge for the numbing of sexual tension. I like it. It's safe. It's fine. I'm happy. It's like Buddy's, really. I keep coming back to my feelings for Elsa, even though I hate them.

I really can't keep away.

Even if they do have really bad coffee.


	4. Chapter 4

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**Now we're getting somewhere. I hope this chapter rips your heart in half :)**

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You Are - Chapter 4

* * *

I'm wearing my favorite dress. Airy. Light. Not at all for the harsh weather we've been having. It's cold. Not freezing, but certainly brisk. It feels like fall in the summer. But with the snowstorms New York has been having, the cold wind feels almost natural now. Like we're crawling back into the common hot summer air we've all been desperate for. My boots clunk along the cracked, icy, sidewalk; the snow has yet to melt, but it's receding day by day. I'm terrified of the snow now. Absolutely sickened by it.

It's night time and I'm missing the beginnings of a really good party. A good boys' party. The boys always threw the best charades and now I'm the odd man out because I was put on Kristoff duty. Which means having to find a big dopey boy lurking around at a bus station probably staring at the glowing advertisements above his head and trying to calculate how they got up there.

"See, that's the difference between New Yorkers and New York Tourists."

"You mean, other than wearing hats."

I give Elsa a strong sigh through my phone. "They just wonder a lot."

"And they have cameras," Elsa says. "Around their necks."

"Well, art students have cameras around their necks, too."

"Well, in that case, you can actually feel the difference."

I nod. "Like there's something so morally right about an art student having an expensive camera in their hands."

"And something so morally wrong about seeing a fat man, his belt way too tight, clutching this little expensive camera in his big, meaty paws."

And we laugh.

"Are you nervous to meet Kristoff?" She asks, her voice is quiet, low. I know she's probably in the liquor store now, using a fake ID. Elsa has changed so much. Not for the better, but at least a bit better than before the door.

"Not really," She has no idea how underrated I sound. I am nervous but not because I'm meeting some boy. It's because I'm meeting Elsa's future boy. "From what Hans told me, he sounds like a moron."

"Anna! Don't be rude," She stifles back a giggle. "It's so unbecoming."

"Says the girl buying liquor without her _own_ money."

I don't have time to hear her probably witty comeback when my phone goes flying and next thing I know, there's a dog on me. Literally on me. My airy, light dress hikes up and there's slobber all over my face. I'm gagging, shooing, laughing, grossed out, and then a boy, not at all dopey, not at all moronic, picks the animal up and laughs nervously.

"Relax, Sven," He holds the dog back by the collar and gives me a look down, his eyes resting at my thighs, currently revealed to the cold air. I blush brilliantly, and pull my skirt down to suppress my eagle spread legs. "Sorry, he usually acts that way with people he knows."

"He probably smelled something on me," I presume, sticking my hand out so he can grab it. He blinks, and pulls me up easily. He's strong, I can see his biceps peeking out from under his shirt and I find myself staring.

He chuckles softly, and then pats his dog's head. "You can pet him," And I do, carefully, wincing right before I touch thick courses of fur.

"I'm Kristoff."

I look at him and laugh. "Oh! Oh, I'm Anna," I point at Sven. "He probably smelt your cousin, Hans, on me and that's why-"

"He went all ballistic."

We laugh, I grab my phone from the ground and then Kristoff says, "So, you're Hans' ex."

It's a terrible way to start off our new friendship. Or whatever this was going to be. Before anything, even friends, I have to get it through my thick skull: He's going to be Elsa's first boyfriend. This causes bile to weld up in my stomach if I think about it too much, so I refrain from pulling an ugly face by grinning randomly.

Kristoff was certainly tall, good fashion, his nose wasn't as big as Hans said it was, and his grin was far from dopey. In all honesty, I was strangely incredibly attracted to the boy, and if I wasn't head over heels for my best friend, he would have been looped around my finger by now. Kristoff had this energy about him, like you could trust him with your life. He was dependable, and as far as first impressions go, I'm kinda fearfully trusting of him already. I feel as if I could let him blindfold me and then walk me into traffic. I could trust my life with this kid. I knew that the moment I met him.

He wasn't a tourist, but not a New Yorker either. He was both, a combination of new and old. A child with experience.

Best part was, he didn't look up at the glowing ads once, unlike all the others around us.

"Just call me Anna," I say cleverly. "I don't do anything fun with Hans anymore."

He continues to rub Sven's head. "But you did."

I nod, gingerly walking down the avenue in search of a cab. "I did."

"And now you're friends," He follows, Sven trotting behind swiftly without a leash, which I find to be completely incredible.

"We are."

"So, you're not dating anyone?"

I continue to walk ahead. I'm fast. I'm from New York. I remember when I was like Kristoff, new and scared. But I'm slightly irritated when he keeps up with me suddenly, when he even, somehow, walks a bit faster. How he dodges the people zooming by us with grace. How he hails a cab without a bat of an eyelash.

Once the car pulls up he settles in first and once I'm in, I'm thoroughly impressed. Which is something that's incredibly hard to gain from me. I blame this trait on my youth with the boys and their arrogant, horrible little mannerisms that usually aired out in conversations. It was usually so hard to keep them focused. And even if you somehow did catch their attention, they would be the ones talking the whole time.

They were rude. And they rubbed off on me.

Though there is a slight argument about a dog being in the car, Kristoff claims that the dog is his guide, which is complete bullshit. "Have you been here before?" I ask quickly, shocked he even knew how to tell such an easy lie.

He blushes, ducking his head. "Lived here for years until I moved back home, actually."

I hum. "Where's home?"

"Oregon."

"It's cold there."

"It's cold here," He stares out his window, and I watch him. "For crying out loud, it's summer."

"The weather has been crazy for the past four years," I dig through my purse for my phone and retrieve it quickly. "When did you leave?"

"Four years ago."

"Well, there you go."

There wasn't a second of silence before he turns to me and says again, clearly, affirmatively. "So, are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Single."

I completely forgot he had ever asked me such a question. And so bluntly. But I ignore him successfully and dial Han's number on my phone. I didn't want to lie. But how can you possibly explain your strange homosexual attraction to a girl who doesn't even notice that every time she touches you, you're at the verge of a mental breakdown, without being creepy? I don't try to explain at all. I give up. I don't even try to explain it to myself, anymore.

Kristoff doesn't say anything else, but continues to gawk and watch me with this dull, blank gaze. I'm flushed under his eyes and I haven't felt so honored in a while. I feel worshiped. Like maybe I'm as close to Elsa as I'll ever be, sitting in the back of a stalled taxi, an eager boy staring at me through the fur of his pet dog. Does Elsa always feel this adored? She obviously does since I'm the one staring at her all the time. But nevertheless, I love Krsitoff's gaze, and selfishly lap it all up.

I feel like I'm cheating, suddenly, as if not being under Elsa's unknowingly watchful eye has created this guilty stigma to rupture inside of me. I feel bare, open, yet closed off to the idea of anyone else. (Other than Kristoff, apparently.)

Hans answers, my phone on speaker, and Kristoff is the first to speak, after looking at me for permission.

"Hey cousin!"

Hans laughs. "Kristoff, you crazy fucker!" I can tell he's walking, he's out of breath. "How do you like New York?"

"It's cold," He deadpans and I giggle.

"So is Oregon."

Kristoff looks at me. "I met Anna she's-"

"Oh yeah, Anna- She can be a little harsh, but it passes once you get into her pan-"

"It's speakerphone!" I exclaim, hiding my blush with my free hand. "Where are you? Can we meet up?"

Hans ignores me and continues to excitingly speak. "If you think Anna is hot, Kristoff, wait until you see Elsa-"

"Who?" Kristoff murmurs.

I notice that he hasn't completely blown off what Hans said about me being hot, which is a good sign in a sense, and answer, "My best friend," And then there comes the spurred feelings of jealousy, feelings of absolute guilt. I shut my mouth stiffly after that, and I'm close to crying. I want to say, you're expected to fuck her very soon. Since Hans told me at Buddy's how he wanted Kristoff and Elsa to get together, it's what I've been thinking about all week. It makes me sick. Makes me angry.

The very idea of Elsa holding someone else's hand makes me want to scream.

"She's hot."

Kristoff turns to me, as if to confirm Hans' rash comments. So I nod. "She's the prettiest girl I've ever met," I mumble, embarrassed. And I mean it. Elsa is beautiful. I love her.

"I can't meet up with you guys later," He's gasping for air now, maybe from excitement, maybe because he's running. It's Hans. It could be anything, really. "I'm currently getting some fun stuff for the party."

Me and Kristoff both know not to question Hans or his purchasing of fun stuff, whatever the fun stuff may be. I'm a bit fearful. For all we know, he could be going to the zoo to steal a lion so at the party we can all take turn having rides. Or it could just be pills.

But the lion sounds more fun.

Hans directs me and Kristoff to the store Elsa is at and I'm incredibly nervous when I tell the driver where to go.

But suddenly, the whole ride turns into this drive where I'm talking for what feels like hours. I found myself open. Free. In sense, I felt as if Kristoff was my own personal, male Elsa. And it felt good to appreciate someone that didn't make me feel incredibly guilty for ever liking them. The whole ride to the liquor store, I talked about Elsa. I didn't stutter or misplace a single word. As if I prepared a speech, concerning Elsa, just for this car ride. As if this conversation was the only reason I was born, to talk about my best friend and her strange quirks and antics. Maybe, I was always waiting for my chance to talk about her. And I finally got it.

I mentioned her love for iced anything. How she likes her food freezing cold. How her room is below zero. How her hair, when she wakes up, is sometimes better than when she prepares it herself. How everything in her room is placed meticulously. How I became friends with her. How we grew together. How she changed my life, essentially, and how I changed hers.

And Kristoff blinked and nodded and listened the whole time, attentive, focused. He wasn't like the boys, but there was a certain Hans charm to him.

I couldn't stop thinking about Elsa when we left the cab behind. And then when I saw her, I didn't have to.

"Els!" I exclaim excitingly, hugging her close and breathing in her scent. She was sitting right outside the store, hands holding her head up, two bags of goodies beside her. She looked gorgeous, almost captivating. A lonely beautiful girl on the side of the road, hair glistening, eyes glancing back and forth between both heels. I love the dress she's wearing; it's always been my favorite.

"God, look at you," She says proudly, she spins me around, twirling me with her fingers. And I laugh like a child, bubbly, full of satisfaction, adoration. "You look beautiful."

"You look beautifuller! Well not fuller- More beautiful," I stutter and clasp my quivering lip with my teeth.

She laughs, thick. And then clasps both hands on my cheeks, and leans in, as if to kiss me. The thrill of seeing each other, after hours of solitude, has really done us both a number. And I'm incredibly embarrassed under her smile. She pulls me into a hug, right at the crock of her neck, I stifle a sniff. I'm stiff. Trying hard not to hump her leg or maybe pull her behind the liquor store and fuck her senseless. That would be a horrible place for our first time. If we ever get one, of course.

"What happened before? You hung up on me," She questions, pulling me back, but still clasping my cheeks.

Everything is going smoothly before I realize I have to introduce Kristoff and Sven.

Sven barks excitingly. I pull away from my hug and watch as Elsa is hesitant at first, but once the dog flops near her and pants, I watch her gentle fingers pace around its fur and eventually scratch its muzzle. I'm transfixed on her before Kristoff clears his throat.

"Oh-" I shake my head softly. "Elsa this is-"

"Kristoff," He mutters, shaking her hand. "Hans' cousin."

"Elsa. Welcome to New York," She grins then turns towards me. "I got the stuff."

"We have to carry it back?" He asks me, and I nod.

"There's a party right down the street. Your cousins are throwing it so…"

Elsa and I walk ahead, leaving the bags in Kristoff's care. He lugs them in both hands and trails behind us, "What about Hans?" He asks.

"He'll be fine," I mutter back, wrapping a hand around Elsa's shoulders. I'm in love with this girl. And I stare at her face as we walk, and she smiles at her heels, clacking beside my boots. God, we're so different. She clacks, elegant, graceful, full of esteem. I clump, messy, disoriented, a hassle. I feel as if my insecurities just make her even better. And the more I judge myself the more I love her. I can't stand it sometimes. Carefully, timidly, she leans in my embrace, and we walk side by side in the clean, cold night of New York, huddled for warmth.

I win, Kristoff.

She didn't even-

"So, Elsa," Kristoff is suddenly beside her, my hand is moved back due to her turning to peek at him, and I'm filled with neglect. "Anna's told me a lot about you."

Elsa turns to me and grins. "Has she now?"

"So has Hans," Kristoff muttered, looking me in the eyes as he does so. I blush at my feet. Remembering what Hans said about us being hot.

"Good things I hope?" She says softly, smiling at him.

"Extremely."

And suddenly, the whole way to our apartment, Elsa and Kristoff are insuperable. Talking, giggling, whispering in hushed voices. I'm in the background, walking beside them no doubt, but still the third wheel; this little voice in the back of their minds as I offer words of advice or thought. They don't concern me. They don't care. And I find myself shrinking into myself, crawling back into a hole to hide.

I'm happy for Elsa, how she found a boy who she just might date, how she's growing right before my eyes. But the terrible little disease I have, love, keeps me from rejoicing at her efforts. I was jealous. I was extremely, horribly, jealous. Oh god, how it burned deep within my gut. It caused this bile. It caused this headache.

I feel guilty for being angry. And I feel neglected to not have Elsa's hand in mine.

We arrive at our apartment, the glowing lights of the Chinese restaurant beam red onto our faces, smiling and perky and it hits me like a truck. Like an unmovable, unstoppable force.

This was my future.

The third wheel.

I stagger behind to catch my breath, tears begging to be released. And when I watch Elsa climb inside with Sven at her heels, and Kristoff trail behind her, I sob.

I sob and I weep, for Elsa. For me. I pity myself, my feelings. Jealously strikes my heart and it aches.

I don't know how long I'm standing outside of a fucking Chinese restaurant, crying like I've been attacked. I'm heaving and leaning onto the window. Some of the workers inside are yelling at me to shut up, and it's all just so fucking comical.

I can picture me, for a few seconds, an out of body experience. A poor, sad, lonely girl, in a really cute dress, sobbing out in front of a restaurant, ignoring the angry cries of foreign languages being thrown at her. I would laugh at that girl. I would ignore that girl. I am that girl.

"Hey-" Kristoff comes wobbling beside me, bags still in hand. "Oh my god, are you okay, Anna?"

We both share looks; I sniffle, I wipe my eyes. Shield my face, hide in the corner. I'm disgusting. I'm foul. "I'm fine."

"Obviously."

His sarcasm makes me laugh, so I chuckle in between my sniffles and then realize that if I can't have Elsa, than really no one can.

I kiss Kristoff. I kiss him hard. I pull him forwards. I taste his lips and I tenderly brush his lower lip with my tongue. And once he opens up - I feel nothing. He kisses me back with effort, obvious arousal. Both bags of alcohol slam onto the sidewalk. I think the vodka broke, but the sacrifice was worth it. I tug him by the collar and he pushes me backwards and grabs my thighs, anything he can reach. Anything he can pull and drag a little closer. As if I'm not close enough as our chest rub and bump and skim across one another.

He loves it. And I'm just waiting for it to end.

It wasn't like the way Hans kissed. Hans kissed like he lived; as if trying to prove himself; as if playing out a strategy or game.

I can hear the traffic around us. The noises of New York at night. I can smell the Chinese food and I can see, just barely, the beginnings of snow, fluttering down to earth.

I can't help but suddenly imagine Elsa kissing me. Ravishing me. Pushing me outside of a Chinese restaurant, beer splattered on our shoes, folding into the sidewalk creases and down the road. It's not romantic; it's sexual; it's this raw, powerful energy. Kristoff is kissing me so hard I can't breathe. I pull back for air, then delve right back in, covering Elsa's name with his lips.

Elsa.

Elsa.

Elsa.

I image her ripping my dress off, pulling me into an alley, cornering me and fucking me senseless. I'm blind. I'm dead. I can't see. I can't breathe. I faintly, almost, cry out her name when his lips trace over my neck - Her thick lips, colored red, kissing me, taunting, reachable, yet so fucking far. I can smell her arousal, I can taste her, thick with absolute need. I'm not stiff, I'm flimsy in her grip, I'm air, flowing around us and pushing into the sky. I want to fly away.

Suddenly I yelp, but not from his hands on my ass, but my vibrating phone in my bra. His hand, currently on my boob, delves in and picks the phone out.

"It's Hans," he rasps out, exhausted.

And I nod faintly, trying to hold myself together when I answer with a shaky. "Hello?"

I don't hear much, just the sound of an operator telling me Hans is in the hospital. And really, it's the first time in a long time I realize how important Hans is to me. How much he matters. I run, eagerly to get Elsa first, she's the only thing that can make sense of anything. I know the hospital we need to be at, the area, but Elsa can calm me. Elsa can make it all okay.

I run through the apartment door to see her, clutching her heart, eyes widely staring at the floor. She looks…upset. And I'm too scared to even question her shuddering. Does she know about Hans? Does she know I just kissed her potential boyfriend in order to keep her mine and mine alone? Does she know I'm this horrible, selfish, little person, trying desperately to tie her up and never let her go?

"Hans is in the hospital," I say loudly, holding her hand to follow me. To hold me. Something.

She nods frantically but doesn't touch me. As if I'm on fire and she could get burnt. I feel like my heated blush gives myself away.

We all huddle into a taxi, hang out in the waiting room, frantically panic, until we find Hans in a plain white room with a cast on.

My first reaction, for some reason, is to laugh, with either relief or from the look on Hans face, as we all enter.

"Don't laugh," He mutters as if speaking to me directly.

But I can't help it, I sprawl onto Elsa and laugh loudly, while she shushes me and pats my back, as if to stifle her own laughter. Kristoff is at the boy's bedside, poking the cast.

"What happened?" Elsa asks. And Hans laughs bitterly.

"Nothing."

It's dumb. But we all believe him. He looks like hell, his eyes baggy, shirt messed with blood. His nose tinted red from the dried substance. I feel a singe of sadness when I look at him only to imagine his brother, Nicholas, in the same position, ill, hurt, defeated.

Once we're about to leave, Hans holds me back, and I stand by his bedside and toy with the blanket surrounding him.

It's just me and him. This hasn't happened in the longest time. And I'm a bit fearful.

"What really happened?" I question, smiling at his dumb little pout.

He nods to himself. "Kids," And passes me a gaze. "They chased when I stole the fun stuff and I- I fell."

I'm holding back laughter, choking on it.

"Oh, shut up," He growls. And we both look away. "Whatever, it's not like I care what you think anyway-"

"Right. That's obviously true since I'm still your emergency contact."

He blinks at me wildly. And there's this strange sort of knowledge being passed around us. I watch him decide whether to lie or tell the truth. And it's so strange to know someone so well, but not be close to them at all. It's strange to understand someone, yet not know what they're going through. We're friends but also strangers. It's incredibly confusing.

"I trust you," He says strongly.

I nod. "And I trust you."

"If you trust me, then why are you hiding something?"

I glance away, to stare out of the window. The sky is dark and I'm dangerously close to spilling all of my details, but Hans is quick.

"I know you, Anna-"

"I know," I grumble, toying with my hair, frequently giving him glances this way and that. I know I have to tell him. I know I have to sooner or later. It's Hans, goddamn it. I want to just stall a bit longer. Keep all the information to myself for once without my ex stealing it right from underneath me. I'm in control now, but not for long.

"Did Elsa and Kristoff-" He raises his eyebrows. "Y'know."

"No."

He rises a bit. "No?" He blinks. His voice then gets lower. "What do you mean no?"

"They didn't connect. There was no spark. No chemistry," I flex his blanket between my fingers. "So, let's just drop the whole thing. It was stupid anyway."

The only noise is the bleeping of his heart monitor. I have no idea why he needs one. It just seems like he has a bloody nose and a broken leg. It's all so overly dramatic, I can barely take it seriously.

I'm still filled with adrenaline after kissing Kristoff. Or, in a sense, kissing imaginary Elsa. Since, the whole time our lips were connected, I was pretending it was her. Which has never happened to me with all my other boyfriends and occasional girlfriends. I think I'm falling deeper into Elsa. Or maybe the disease is spreading to all parts of my body. I'm being consumed as each day passes by. Every second and my body becomes more accustomed to the idea of absolute adoration. Obsession.

"Anna," He mutters after moments of silence. "Anna, what did you do?"

"God, nothing," I turn to rub my eyes. I feel so much guilt. I need it off my chest. "Christ- "

"Anna-"

"I kissed Kristoff."

There was silence and Hans sinks back into his pillow instead of rising in absolute rage. I've never seen him look this way. So sullen. So quiet. So disappointed.

He's disappointed in me.

He finds me regrettable.

I try to regain my composure. "You wouldn't get it."

"I wouldn't get what? Why you kissed Kristoff? Because you like him?" He scoffs. "I know you love Elsa. I know you're practically addicted to her."

"Shut up," I fumble out, dumbly. I feel stupid, like a child being scolded in front of a crowd. Maybe it's because Hans is such a child himself. I'm blind getting led by the blind. I'm a child getting scolded by someone younger than me. It's embarrassing. "Just, shut up," I'm so far from the bed now, in the corner, looking out the window, watching an elderly woman crawl inside of the hospital. Her cane cracking against the pavement.

"You think I wouldn't find out about your thing for Elsa-"

"It's not a thing," I announce, turning. I'm angry. "Don't you dare make it seem less of what it is."

"Oh, it's a thing, Anna. It's crazy. It's weird. It's a thing."

"Well, maybe it can go away now that I have Kristoff," I mock.

I go back to the window, but the old lady is gone. She must have finally made it inside. I wish I could finally make it inside. I feel like that old woman, but without a cane, as I stumble over rocks and dirt, pummeling to my death. "Is it obvious?" I whisper carefully.

"It's obvious, Anna."

"Do you think she knows?"

"That you like her?"

I nod faintly.

"No-" He rubs his chin. "She's too inexperienced to know."

Now she will never be experienced. Now that I practically have Kristoff wrapped around my finger.

"How did you find out?" I know I'm asking too many questions, but Hans is, surprisingly, answering them. I feel like I'm on a timer, I have to keep asking before it runs out. Before Hans gets bored of me.

"I was watching you both- Remember that day you guys came into Buddy's? When I had just broken up with Amber?"

I remember. I remember that day incredibly well. I was completely wasted and we all drank the stray beers behind the counter. "It's fuzzy."

"Well, just watching you two- you and Elsa," He smiles grimly, and swallows thickly. "I can just see it, every time you look at her, Anna - You get this sparkle in your eye."

I'm blushing, choking on embarrassment.

"God, you can't stop touching her or staring at her."

I'm still trying to defend myself. Which is just sad and useless. It's like supporting a lost cause. I'm desperate for some sort of approval. "That's how a lot of girls act around their friends, Hans. It's the same."

"No, it's different," He voices out thickly, strongly. I'm a bit taken back by his sudden aggression.

"How do you know it's different?"

"Because how you act around is Elsa is the same way you used to act around me!" I'm scared. His yelling booms off of the walls, sticks onto my skin. I'm shaking. From fear. Embarrassment. Guilt? "And, you and Elsa - it should never happen." He continues, gravely staring at the ground.

I counter, "Why are you so against me and Elsa getting together. Being together?"

Hans watches me carefully. "You two wouldn't work well."

"We work well now."

"You would break up in about a week."

"You know we wouldn't."

"It would ruin your friendship."

"Maybe I'm ready for that."

"But is she?"

I glance at him wildly, finally staring at his face, full of anxiety. He seems so weak and frail underneath the flimsy hospital gown, his fingers gripping the sheets he rests under. I find myself staring at him a lot lately. I feel like speaking to Hans is such a chore. What's the point of conversation when we can practically just read each other's thoughts to know what we want to say? It's stupid to talk and argue, when, even through one look, I can tell he doesn't approve of me and Elsa. And through one look at me, he knows that I have no idea why.

Maybe we talk to insure the separation between us. We're still so close. And it's only been a year.

"Whatever, Anna. The what-ifs don't even matter-" He stumbles on his words. "It doesn't matter because you'll never make a move."

"I did make a move," I say quickly. Going back to the time in Elsa's apartment, close enough to kiss in the darkness of her room.

"You're right. You did," he laughs bitterly. "Just on the wrong person."

And I'm guilty and grimacing and trying hard not to cry as the night sky just grows even darker. I don't know what to say. I really have no more words left. And the silence is so thick with tension, so uncomfortable, I have half a mind to leap out of the window and hope for death to take me. Does Hans know I'm close to crying? Of course he does. He knows, just by the shuddering of my shoulders, whether I'm cold or sobbing. He knows me so well. And once, his understanding was something to behold, now a liability.

"Come here," He mutters and I turn to melt into his embrace eagerly, for the first time, in years. I bend over, wrap two loose arms around his shoulders and he nuzzles into my neck, rubbing my back for comfort. "Just give up on her," He whispers sympathetically. Like I have a disease that needs to get treated. Like surgery. Like removing an organ. Removing a part of me. Essentially, a part of me that belongs somewhere inside of me, in order to make me work and tick correctly. Without Elsa, I'd be broken. Goddamn it, getting rid of Elsa is exactly like removing an organ. It's like removing my lung, or my heart. My brain, so I can't think. As if to suck out all my bones and leave me as a limp, flap of skin.

That's all I am without Elsa. Skin. Bones. Teeth gritting and shaped to a frown. Eyes closed and weld shut. I'm nothing but this angry little girl.

"Are you going to date him?" He murmurs as I pull back and walk to the door.

"Yes," I say faintly.

We both know the reason why.

I'm selfish.

I meet Elsa outside the hallway, she's pacing the halls, biting her nails and I grip her hand with mine to calm her fear. "He's fine." I say softly. And she nods stiffly.

Kristoff comes from behind me and there's this little zap of energy between us. Like we know something everyone else doesn't, and it feels so good for him but so wrong for me. "I'm going to see him," He mutters, rubbing my shoulder softly before entering the room without a reply.

There's this uncomfortable silence between me and Elsa, for once. And I can't seem to get out of it. We head outside into the darkness, and for the first time in a while, I smoke. It's a bit funny to smoke right outside of a hospital. But I'm thinking, if I continue to smoke, I'll just end up with a heart monitor on me anyway. So it's like knowing my fate instantly.

I love that kind of control.

Elsa is sitting on the bench, legs crossed by the ankles, flicking gazes at me here and there, gazes I don't properly meet due to nerves.

"I saw you kiss Kristoff," She mumbles finally.

And I feel horrible. It's quaking inside of me. Crushing my bones. I stole her boy. I stole her only shot of ever having a boyfriend. Her only shot of growing from that shut-in girl. To rise above her past. It's not about getting a boyfriend. Or losing her virginity. Or experience. It's about growth and empowerment. Elsa would be better off with someone she can openly love. Someone she can kiss and hug. She wouldn't be Elsa the ex-shut-in, but maybe Kristoff's Elsa or maybe, better yet, just Elsa.

I'm gripping my cigarette so tightly it snaps a bit in half, and I try to take more puffs out of it anxiously.

"Do you like him?"

No, I like you Elsa. No, I love you. I hurt you because I love you. I'm doing this to you because I need you. I'm ruining you because I adore you.

I nod. Lying through my teeth, looking away to hide the tears.

"Are you happy?"

I nod again. Tears practically passing the barrier behind my eyelashes. Forcing their way out.

"Well, that's all that matters," She smiles and reaches for my hand and grips it tightly. There was always something so right about holding Elsa's hand. I could hold it for hours. Days. Not just for its soft texture, not for the feelings inside, but for the safety I feel. I feel safe in a city full of strangers when I'm with Elsa. Not so open. A bit closed off to the world. I'm hidden behind Elsa's jacket and she's pulling me close to her shoulder where I'm practically inside of her neck. I can smell the perfume wafting from it. I breath in, stub my cigarette on the bench, burn myself, but it doesn't even matter, because I'm staring at her skin, pale, pasty, glistening, not mine.

I feel my eyes roll back in my head. I'm instantly aroused. I want to kiss her neck. Lick her neck. But Kristoff. The kiss.

The very reason I kissed Kristoff was to get rid of him. Yet, he's suddenly the very thing between us. I've pretty much insured his stay. I've allowed him to billow between this incredible friendship. Ruin us. A white picket fence cutting right between our houses. Me and Elsa's houses. Our homes. Our hearts. I'm crying now, sobbing.

Elsa asks what's wrong, never pulling me back. Never letting the world see me cry. I shake my head and I'm still so fucking aroused. I'm still into her. I want to kiss her neck. I want to kiss her. If I dipped back before and just-

"I'm just really upset that we missed the party," I say softly, between sniffles and hiccups.

We both know I'm lying.

The scary part is we just accept it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey! Wow. Let me just start off by saying, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. You are all so amazing and I have finally (after years of writing crap Naruto fanfics, deleting them, changing my name and moving to Alaska), finally, achieved my goal of 100+ followers! I am so overjoyed I can barely breath. I'm proud of myself and proud of you guys for your fanart, reviews, follows, favorites, tumblr posts - I'm ecstatic, and I have met so many new, interesting, people through this adventure. And I really hope to make more! Please enjoy this experience with me :) Thank you very much!**

**With that being said...some of you think the story is going to get a little bit happier from here on out.**

**It's not.**

**Actually, take all those happy, joyous, friendly, rainbow, bullshit feelings and throw them in a fire and burn them. Burn them until they are black with despair. Put the fire out with your tears. And then try to conceal, dont feel, and let it fucking go. Because I'm going to destroy every single one of you.**

**Enjoy :L**

* * *

You Are - Chapter 5

* * *

She didn't ask for a coffee, but I'm bringing it up anyways. For one thing, I had some extra cash in my pockets that was begging to be spent and, for another thing, I haven't delivered a fresh iced coffee to Elsa's door in about a week and 2 days, so I bet she's seriously deprived.

I'm softly climbing inside the apartment building and shuffle quietly to the staircase leading up the boys' apartment where Kristoff currently resides. I'm afraid to make my presence known as I wait for any noises coming from up above. When the coast is clear, I make my speedy getaway to Elsa's door.

Standing before the white cool oak, I rasp my hand along the wood quickly, taking another peek down the hall, fearful to see Kristoff standing there. The boy just won't leave me alone. And I guess that's how it feels to be dating someone. Preferably, someone you like is a bit more enjoyable but-

I knock and pray she'll answer with a smile. I've been Elsa deprived and I needed to bask in her glow, her cool air conditioned room, the soft laughter of her voice.

"Elsa," I knock once again. "It's me, Anna. Do you want some coffee? It's your favorite," My voice is a bit worried, serious.

I can't wait for her to answer. And then I hear the locks, each chiming off down the line. I count as each one goes off. I know Elsa has 6 locks on her door. But as she reaches the last one, it doesn't click off, and instead the door opens and slams to a halt as a chain snaps in front of our gazes.

"Elsa," I shout with excitement. I wait for her to close the door again and then reopen it without a gold chain in our faces. But she doesn't, and I feel an overwhelming anxiety. I laugh nervously. I'm freezing, not just by the iced drink in my hands, but also the breeze from Elsa's room. "Are you going to move the chain?" My smile doesn't falter.

She's staring at me with these heavy eyes. From the looks of it, she's been crying. I can tell immediately and I feel sick to my stomach.

"Are you okay?"

It's the understatement of the year. Elsa doesn't look okay. She doesn't seem okay. She's most definitely not okay. And I physically grimace as the cold coffee, still in my hand, goes untouched by her own fingers, which, I imagine are still gripping the doorknob.

I feel suddenly like a stranger. Or maybe how Jehovah witnesses feel. So secluded. So cut off. Dangerous. Outcast.

"Thanks," She replies finally, glancing down at the coffee. I feel a cold chill breeze through her room, and I think she has the window open. "Usually you leave it by my door though."

"I-" I pause then glance at the drink. "Well, do you want me to leave it then? I mean-"

She shrugs. "Sure, just leave it by the door."

I nod slowly. "And I'll come back later I guess."

"Might not be around." She murmurs. "My friend Tiffany is taking me somewhere so…"

We both stand by the door awkwardly. I've never felt so much tension in my life. Especially concerning Elsa. I want to say something. Anything. "Are you going to Hans' thing tonight?"

She gulps. And for a second, a tiny, small second, I see a flash of fear on her face. "For Nicholas?"

I nod. "Did you know him?"

She doesn't answer back too quickly, but seems to close the door a bit more. "I was usually in my room most of the time so..."

"Right," I laugh. It's not funny. "You were a shut-in then," It's still not funny and I want to turn around and slap myself in the face. Or vomit. Or cry. Or yell at the wall. I want to say sorry, but instead I gently place the coffee down by the front door, and before I even have time to look up it closes loudly. I hear the locks. All five of them. And then I run upstairs to Kristoff and kiss him.

Later in the day, the weather seems to worsen.

It's awful. But not snowing for once, which is the only good thing that has happened all week. Though there's something in the air. It's not brisk. Not like the fall. But more like a freezing winter chill that swoops by at any unforeseen moment. It happens randomly: you're walking along the sidewalk and you feel your skin chap immediately, then the cold waves by, slaps you in the face, and soon you're shuddering to yourself in silence, waiting for the cold to pass through your bones and heart. It's teeth chattering. Finger numbing. It's freezing. And it's like the cold is wailing. As if Mother Nature is either sobbing, or her heart is broken. It's a different kind of essence. It's not Christmas. It's not beautiful. It's just miserable.

The snow around us isn't white. Its black, darkened from the cars running through it. Chopped up and destroyed by the people slumping through it. We all kick the snow now. We barely play in it anymore. We are bodies, shuffling around the iced patches of snow, gravitating to warm buildings, walking under the dark clouded sky without a single thought in our minds except 'when will this weather just end?'.

It's the end of the world.

But I haven't had time to greet the weather — or even my own bedroom for the past few days — because I find myself with the boys, once again. I have traveled back in time. I'm in my past. Sitting on the same leather couch, listening to the same boys and men converse to one another in loud voices. Laughter is booming around me. Food is surrounding us. I feel 17 again. Young. Alive. Childish. Listening to the various conversations playing out around me. Peering in wonderment at the men surrounding me. They really haven't changed, and it's a bit scary because neither have I.

They welcomed me back with open arms and even more opened minds. They understood my uncomfortableness around them. They reasoned with my fears. They understood why I left without a word and why I came back so reluctantly.

The only difference from my younger years with the boys and now, my older years, is that this time, instead of Hans' fingers brushing my hair back, it's Kristoff's.

It seems that no matter whom I date from the Eastern Isles clan — whether it be Hans or Kristoff or even Nicholas — I will always gravitate to the upstairs apartment. A moth to a flame. Like basking in the glow of beautiful apathy. Smoking because I can and am allowed to. Drinking coffee that has no sugar. It's bitter. It's tasteless. It reminds me of Elsa.

I'm curled up on the couch with Sven, petting his fur softly as he perches in my lap. He's huge. This dog is ridiculously big and my legs are numb, but he's warm, so I just cuddle closer.

Elsa was great to cuddle with too. She would do this thing with her arms and legs, wrap them around your entire body, burrow you in like a cocoon. You were locked in. Safe and sound. The traffic outside would loudly blare but, once in Elsa's arms, you had nothing to fear.

Now, I sleep in Kristoff's bed. In Kristoff's arms. His breathing is harsh, Elsa's was light. His arms are rough, Elsa's were soft. His snoring is loud; Elsa's mumbles rocked me to sleep. Me and Kristoff fight for the blanket. Elsa used to just give it over.

We would stay up all night and talk and then fall asleep. Elsa would set her alarm for seven o'clock. And her biological clock would wake her at five. I'd scramble from her room, hair in all sorts of directions, rubbing my eyes. She'd hand me my coffee, a plate of eggs, scoot me in her chair and tenderly talk about her morning.

"Where's Elsa?" I ask, trying to hide my anxiety on her casual disappearance. "She's coming right?"

"She'll come," Kristoff's voice is deep in my ear, whispering. "Don't worry."

I slink back into his grip and continue to stroke Sven's muzzle. Everyone starts talking again, all at once. And it just doesn't feel right. Nothing feels right anymore, and I'm desperate to make this feeling go away. I'm filled with such uncertainty. Without Elsa, I'm not grounded; I'm in the air; I have no place. I felt this way with Hans. I felt this way with the boys. Even if I looked like a part of the group, my heart was never in it. I smoked because they smoked. I drank because they drank. I flirted with girls because they flirted with girls. And I guess along the way, they flirted with me too. And I guess I'm just going down the list of Hans' family. Soon, I'll be dating Sam, then Rich.

Even with the coffee in my hand and the cigarette smoke in my lungs, I'm still cold. Even with a boy hugging me and his dog on my lap, I'm still freezing. My insides are cold. My heart is frozen.

I get up. I need to walk. Move. Something. So I tread to the kitchen lightly and find Hans hanging over his sink with a glass of liquor in his hand. His shoulders heave upwards, his back bent. For the first few seconds, I thought he was vomiting, but then softly realizing the little shutters coming from deep within his shoulders, I tenderly reach for his hair to stroke it. The kitchen isn't lit; it's dark, the only light casting down upon Hans is by the window before him. He looks heavenly, divinely, holy. Something Elsa would always look like.

I reach for Hans. Trying to sympathize. Trying to at least be present, be a body to hold on to or punch, or if the right reason calls for it, love. He turns, and there are no words for us. We've always been like this. On the same level. The same plane. I knew Hans better then he knew himself. And he knew me better than Elsa. Sometimes when you're that close to a person, all you really can do is become a stranger. It feels weird being an open book all the time. But for now, I feel as if maintaining our friendship isn't too much of a sacrifice, as I hold onto Hans and never let go.

He breathes into my neck, nods in understanding, and pulls back with a smile.

"He'll be fine," He says to me. And all I can do is nod. Sure he'll be fine. I'm positive. He gives me a sip of his drink, and then asks, "You know Elsa is invited, right?"

I nod stiffly once again. "I'll be fine."

He stares at me for a while, the lights still off. I'm faintly reminded of that time I almost kissed Elsa. Before all of this happened to us. "It's not you I'm worried about. And whatever she does to you-" He brushes my bangs back; he wants something to toy with, a distraction. "You deserve one hundred percent of it."

And I nod again. As if walking to the plank. Putting the gun to my head with only one bullet in it.

"Why aren't you talking anymore?"

I shrug. "I don't know."

"You sound scared."

I laugh softly. It's not funny. It's terribly true. "I'm scared of Elsa?"

He continues to stare. "Don't you feel bad?" He's still disappointed in me. He's still upset. He hasn't gotten over the fact that I'm still with Kristoff. He's mad at me for using his cousin. I don't blame him, so I look at the cast on his foot and grimace. "You stole Kristoff. You ignored-"

"Why does this have to be about me right now?" I feverishly hush, glancing at the living room radiating with warm light. "This is Nicholas' day."

"But you're not happy."

"I am happy."

He rolls his eyes. "You look like shit, actually."

I grumble lowly and sip his drink again. He watches me swish it around in my mouth before swallowing. The heat feels good. I've been so cold lately. "I'm fine. I have a boyfriend-"

"Who you don't even like-"

"And I'm fine," I voice out stiffly, glaring now. "So just drop it, Hans."

I'm shocked at my own voice, stiff, unpleasant. Gross. Sick. I hate it. I sound like the last time me and Nicholas talked. The last time I quit smoking. But this time, I don't sound so determine, I just sound terrified. So, while pushing my hair behind my ear, Hans leaves first and I follow short and curl back to my place on the couch.

"So, let's make a toast then," I look over at Hans' whose smushed between two brothers. He has a drink in the air, a hand on Sam's shoulder, a sad smile. "To Nicholas."

"To Nicholas," I counter.

And the rest of us mutter his name in the silence of despair. This is why we're here today. This is why we all gathered around the coffee table, marked with stains, coffee outlines, even a bit of paint, for Nicholas.

There's the shuffling of feet behind us and suddenly, Elsa in a long black coat, snow sparkling her shoulders and hair, eyes lidded and heavy, mumbles a small sorry and grabs a glass handed to her. I haven't seen the interior of her apartment in a week. I haven't seen her whole body in a week. I haven't had the time to bring her coffee until this morning. I haven't had the time to give her a hello or knock on her door, whispering into the lock 'Elsa, do you want some coffee?' till this damn morning. I don't have time for that anymore. I have Kristoff now.

He seems to be really all I have now.

And we all clank our glasses, making eye contact as we do so. Finally, I reach Elsa's glass. We clank. We make eye contact. And we move on.

We move on to another person.

We look away.

We pretend we don't know.

Goddamn it, I don't want to move on-

"Elsa!" I exclaim, standing. Sven scrambles from my lap. And Kristoff leans back in his seat, and all eyes are on me. And my eyes are on the beautiful girl across the coffee table. "Where have you been?" I joke. I fake excitement, hiding my absolute embarrassing fear; fear that Elsa hates me now; hates me for stealing Kristoff and deserting her; fear of rejection. "Haven't seen you in a while."

She doesn't blink. "Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

And god it hurts. God it aches. I hold my hand back from clasping my heart. I feel as if I'm going to have a heart attack. It's the worst possible thing she can say to me. It's the worst thing she can ever respond back with. She's hurting me on purpose. I hurt her. We're hurting each other. Having a fist fight. Pulling back and swinging with full force. I'm tired of this separation.

All eyes are back at me and I move my gaze to Hans, who is shaking his head in disappointment. Because we all knew I deserved that one. So I should just take it like a good girl. Like a reasonable girl. Like a reasonable friend. But I have too much pride, too much love for the girl before me. I want to hear her voice, even if it is throwing insults at me. I want her to yell at me. Talk to me. I want her hands in my hair. Her dog on my lap.

I laugh. It seems like the only normal thing my brain can think of. "How was the coffee this morning? Cold enough?" I ask. And then Elsa lowers her gaze, sets her glass on the table and stumbles off towards the bathroom. We listen to the door slam shut, cutting right through the silence. I jump a bit at the noise and continue to stare at her full drink.

Everyone is back to talking immediately. It's awkward.

I feel so out of place.

I feel so off.

Kristoff tries to comfort me, by trapping my twitching fist between his fingers, but I'm not having any of it as I pull away and climb out onto the snow tattered balcony without coat a on. I hope the cold kills me. I hope I freeze to death. I suck at the edge of my cigarette desperately and cough with force into the cold night air. It starts to snow, light, gentle flurries. And I'm watching people pass by below, how they shiver in the cold. I shiver with them, before a jacket, warm, soft, is draped over my shoulders.

"Hey," I mutter. I know it's Kristoff. It took him long enough to finally check on me.

He mumbles back a greeting and then rests his hands in my hair, muffling my bangs up and giving me a small grin. "What's happening right now?"

"I don't know."

"Why haven't you talked to Elsa?"

Because of you. "I don't know."

There's silence between us. I take another drag. I think about Nicholas, sick, in a hospital bed somewhere, drowning in an illness. I pity him. And I hate myself for it.

"It's really coming down," Kristoff murmurs, looking off at the buildings just beyond the horizon. I've never hated the city more. I feel lost. I give him a look of confusion, to which he answers, "The snow."

And I nod at my feet. Me and Kristoff, after a few minutes of comfortable silence filled with a shared cigarette, talk once more. I keep the jacket on.

"What's wrong with Nicholas?" I wonder aloud. "Not to be rude."

Kristoff looks at me softly, before nodding, "They really don't know. But they say he has a few months left to live."

I stifle a little cry. And shrug the coat on higher. "We should go visit him sometime, then," I say.

And Kristoff agrees quietly and kisses behind my ear. I feel dread. I feel lonely. I feel sick. "You should talk to her," He mutters, flicking some snow from the railing. "She was crying in the bathroom when you left."

I gulp loudly. "Elsa? You could... hear her?"

"Just-" He squeezes his eyes tight, as if to hold back certain words. "Little sobs-"

"Oh, god," I clasp two hands into my eyes and push. I push and push and maybe if I push enough, I could just push out all my guilt and my heartache. But I'm just too fucking scared. I'm just too damn horrible.

"It's not loud sobbing but it's…a significant amount."

"Oh, well-" I scream out sarcastically. I can't look at Kristoff. I just can't. "I'm glad she's not sobbing too much!"

He doesn't say much else, but I'm scrambling to rip the coat off and throw it over the balcony or maybe at him. But before I even have enough time to peel it away from my shoulders a familiar scent radiates from its black wool. I'm biting my lip, trying hard to not cry or maybe scream in anger.

It's Elsa's coat.

"She gave it to me for you," Kristoff mumbles.

And I break down.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks again for everything, guys :) I have to admit...This chapter was probably the easiest one so far. It's pretty good, if I do say so myself. And now it's even better because I have received a beta, the glorious, **xXNorwegianAssassinXx**! Who has shown me the light. The way. The truth. Thank you.**

**Anyway. This is my favorite chapter by far. I'm sure it will be yours too. **

**(Here's some music **watch?v=275UZJ1gsjU** or** watch?v=NlxxSAnK6Do**) **

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You Are - Chapter 6

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I wake up to the haze of the boys dancing before me. I'm on the couch; Sven is curled up at the edge of my feet. And I miss Elsa's jacket. It's the first thing I realize what's missing, other than a chunk of my heart.

I don't rise from my spot on a set of cushions for a while, as I groggily watch the boys all dance and murmur to themselves. There's girls around them, gyrating and moving to the beat. They're loud, and the lights are off except for a single lone lamp, its shade pointing directly onto the men. Their shadows play and dance around on the walls, and I watch them with quiet wonderment. They're drunk. I'm drunk. And when I search for Elsa, I realize she's gone. And she took her jacket with her.

"What time is it?" I say softly to Kristoff, who's still cackling from a joke he probably heard earlier. He pulls close to me and I smell beer.

"Late."

"Where's Hans?"

"Kitchen."

So I rise from the warmth, tenderly pet Sven's head and walk - stumble - to the kitchen. I'm intoxicated. My thoughts are everywhere, yet nowhere. I clasp the walls and move slowly, as if blind. Soon enough, I find Hans on the kitchen table having sex with a boy. I think it's a girl at first, due to his thin waist and Hans' recent past with girls. But when I hear a not so feminine groan, it doesn't chill me to the bone as much as I thought it would. I watch them soundlessly for a moment, too drunk to move, too drunk to even care that my once straight ex was now as gay as me.

I climb into the kitchen, maybe for some water, a cracker - I completely forgot that Hans was currently fucking some stranger on his kitchen table - And I ignore the sound of the table legs moving, scraping against the floor.

"Excuse me," Hans mutters, annoyed. "I'm a bit busy here."

"I can see that," I reply. My voice probably doesn't sound as sarcastic as I want it to be. "Where's Elsa?"

"She left."

We all stand still and stare. I try to identify the boy's face, but it's too dark to even find the fridge I'm currently scavenging for, so I give up.

"We're talking about this later," I mutter to Hans. I reach for a water, take a swig and place it back into the cooler.

"Go talk to Elsa," Hans mutters to me when I leave.

And I go to do just that. I move through the crowd of people, grab a bottle of beer, sip it, and proceed to crawl down the stairs. My butt hits every step as I take my time reaching the bottom. I'm laughing; it's all so funny. I can't go down the stairs like a normal person. I'm too wild right now.

Finally, I'm at Elsa's door, my hand just hovering over the wood. Cool. Clean. It used to be so much easier in the beginning. Everything was easier four years ago. The weather wasn't cold. My heart wasn't broken - but I knew, out of all the people I fell for, Elsa would be the one to ruin me. I guess I was right all along.

I stare at the iced coffee - melted now - by her door. I grimace and try hard to not focus too much on the fact that she never even took the time to grab it and take a sip since this morning. I don't care about the money wasted. Nothing is ever wasted on Elsa. Everything she does is perfect. Everything she graces is perfect. Whatever she eats has been eaten with care. Everything she does is down to the finest of her abilities. To the highest point of perfection. It's incredible. If she's writing a letter to you, it's addressed with the finest penmanship. Even drunk, Elsa must be a bit elegant. She never drinks from the bottle, only from a glass. And even if she's throwing up, she'll do it quietly and softly and it will smell like roses every time.

I knock with my feet and make a small smudge on the bottom of the door. I don't even care.

"Elsa," I sing song. "Elsa, open up." I probably sound deranged. This wouldn't be the first time I showed up to her door drunk, but I certainly thought I wouldn't be doing it again for a while. It's embarrassing, and before I can run away to realize how much of a loser I am, Elsa opens the door and stares at me.

This is my chance. To apologize. To say sorry. To plead and ask for forgiveness. But what was I even apologizing for? I'm sorry I stole Kristoff in order for us to never separate? I'm sorry I've been ignoring you because Kristoff just won't seem to leave me alone? I'm sorry I'm in love with you, and I lay awake at night thinking of you?

I want to talk about my sexual tension to someone. Anyone. I can barely stand it. Nights seem endless as I lay away, thinking of Elsa, terribly aroused and sad. It's pathetic. I'm pathetic. Standing at her door, drunk, desolate, sad, lonely. I don't want to have sex with her. I don't even want to kiss her. I want to at least talk to her. Have some sort of voice in my head that isn't screaming at me to stop fucking up. To start keeping the friends I make instead of push them away. To make the right decisions for once.

I blush under her gaze and stare at my shoes.

"Hi." Good start.

She takes a moment to absorb the thought of me standing by her door again. It's been so long, and it's happened twice today. Which is like a record at this point. "Hello."

"I-" I furiously shove a strand of hair behind my ear. I'm nervous, incredibly nervous. My palms are sweating. My clothes are twisted and turned from sleeping on a couch. I look like a mess. "Thanks for the coat. Your coat."

Elsa nods softly. Does she know that I knew she was crying in the Hans' bathroom earlier today? "I thought you might be cold."

I lean a hand against her doorframe, I can't stop wobbling. But I'm focused. I can do this. "It was. It was cold, I mean. It was freezing out. Terrible weather we've been having."

She nods again. Stiff. We're both so stiff. I glance downwards.

"Why didn't you drink your coffee?" I ask softly, staring at the cup by my feet. It's a constant reminder of my failure, and it makes me mad. "You always drink your coffee."

Elsa looks tired. But also like an angel, as the golden lights emanating from her apartment creates this beautiful glow to outline every hair, every little tinge of clothing, surrounding her. She's holy. Magnificent. My city. Glowing brightly like a beacon, shining in night. She's my New York. "Anna. Go to sleep," She mutters to me after an annoyed sigh. She can tell I'm drunk. She already knows it. She must smell it on me.

"But I want to talk."

"It's really late Anna. You should get some rest," Elsa pokes her head out. "Where's Kristoff, why isn't he with you?"

I laugh. "Who cares about Kristoff?"

She gives me a hard look. "Apparently, you do."

I swear to god if she insults me again- She continues to talk, but I ignore her. I'm hurt. I'm upset. Can't she see how much her little reply damaged me? My heart is bleeding. My eyes are blurry, and I glance down at the ice drink at the foot of her door. I don't listen to whatever she has to say next as I pick the iced cup and throw it across the hall. I'm just so frustrated. I'm so angry. I'm mad. And I don't know what I'm doing anymore.

Suddenly Elsa is screaming at me, wrestling me from behind as I go to kick the cup, sending spurs of coffee everywhere. It's on the walls. On the hallway furniture. I don't care. I don't care anymore. I push Elsa back and she stumbles towards a clean wall and stares at me with an absurd expression.

She thinks I'm crazy.

Maybe I am.

We're both panting. Tired. Strained. Is this the breaking point of our friendship? It's do or die now. The beginning of the end.

I keep asking her the same question as I kick the cup around. "Why didn't you drink your coffee?" Why? I'm rampaging and screaming and making a scene. And finally I feel her arms around me once more, and she's pulling me close and grabbing my back with two small, cold hands. I'm so close to her I feel like we're becoming one. And my arms mistakenly snake around her waist, to keep her still, to keep her mine.

She's near; her mouth is against the shell of my ear, to calm me, to shush me. She whispers soft nothings to ground me and then admits, "Because everything that reminds me of you hurts now."

And I hold back, and I rub my hands through her hair. I wish I wasn't drunk for this. I wish I could be sober enough. I'm embarrassed and pull from her grasp. "No!" I thunder out. I will not fall for her romance. I will not fall into her embrace. I won't let her win this. "Why does it hurt? It never used to hurt before!"

"Anna," She stops and bits her lip, outstretched hands sink closely to her sides, shoulders tense up, eyes snap shut. And she looks like a small, terrified animal. "Please, go home."

"Why are you so mad at me?" I yell aloud.

She squeezes her eyes tightly. "I'm not mad at you."

"I can tell you're mad at me, Elsa! Why won-"

"I'm not mad at you!" She screams.

We're arguing in the hallway. It's dark. I can barely see her. The only light is from her open apartment doorway. It's a beautiful golden light. It looks so holy.

"Yes you are!" I push her back against the wall — I don't want her too close — and point a finger at her, "I know you, Elsa," My words are firm. Sharp. Like I'm reprimanding her. "So tell me why everything I do hurts you. Please!"

She grimaces at my words and crawls deeper towards the wall, maybe to still her shuddering. "Because it's you."

And I'm still, and I'm trying hard to not cry. I'm so tired of crying. I'm done with crying. There are no more tears left. Now it's just desperation. This pathetic pleading. A horrible sadness, dripping from my tone. I'm close to kicking the cup again, throwing up or just sobbing uncontrollably.

"It's me?" I exclaim. "It's me?" My hands clasp onto my chest, pounding my heart. Overbearingly screaming, my voice is wet; it's full of tears. I cry out. "No, it's you Elsa! Don't you realize everything I do is for you?" I point at her. "Do you understand how much you mean to me?"

Her eyes are wide, fearful. She's never seen me this way. Outraged and down to the last thread. This is my lowest point. I've hit rock bottom. I can't go up and I can't really go any lower.

"If I mean so much to you, why are you with Kristoff?" Her voice is pained and whiny. She's trying so hard to control the shakiness. But it's not working. I know she wants to cry.

I bundle all my feelings together and I explode. "I kissed Kristoff because of you! I'm selfish and I'm horrible because of you! I buy coffees every day for you! And I lay awake at night, crying, because of you!" I'm poking her chest, pushing her in, and I'm attacking her buttons. I can see the realization on her face. And then the sudden frustration. I want her to scream. I want a reaction. Slap me. Hurt me. Cry. Do something. Just stop ignoring me!

"You're dating Kristoff for me?" She pushes my hands away. "How does that make any sense at all, Anna?"

She looks hurt. And beautiful. I want to cuddle with her and kiss her bruises away. Clean her wounds. Wounds that I caused. For a second, Elsa loses her cool and looks absolutely awful. And then elegant and poised Elsa is back; she brushes her hair down with calm fingers, straightens her shoulders, and keeps her chin held high.

I'm searching for words, trying to come up with something. But I can't think of explaining it all in one go. I can't explain why I kissed Kristoff. I can't explain why I've been terrified of her all week. It'll take too long. I feel like I'm on a timer and my end is near. I need to just tell the truth. Say what's on my mind. I'm so done with hiding. And I don't know if it's the beer running through me, or my everlasting love, but something snaps vibrantly in my chest. So I rub my eyes, painfully, and I mutter, bravely, or stupidly. "Elsa, we almost kissed a week ago."

And she knows I'm talking about us.

She knows.

I can tell from the blush creeping on her face, and she can tell from my quivering lip, that it's been on our minds for the past two weeks; that it's been keeping us up at night, restless, fighting off the desires to push our shaking fingertips down our panties. The light emanating from her apartment is hitting her just slightly, and I can see her widened heavy, fearful expression. And I love it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," She stutters. She's weakened slightly. Fearful Elsa pokes out from the stoic girl before me. She's grasping it all together, piece by piece.

I move closer. I just want her to understand. "You wanted to kiss me-"

"I didn't-"

"And I wanted to kiss you too- but the storm- And I wanted to tell you that day-"

"Anna-" She moves back a bit fearfully. "Anna, please."

And I move closer, my hands reaching for a touch of her hair. A gentle glide down her face. I want to feel her cold skin against my fingertips. I need it. I'm addicted. I'm fearless. I'm brave. I am a woman, hear me roar. Everything I've done for the past few weeks, no, months, no, years, has been for this beautiful girl before me. And I realize this. And I recognize this. And that's my undoing.

It's really been too long.

And it can't last like this forever.

And it won't just go away if I ignore it.

Suddenly, it all happens so fast - but I'm not scared anymore — it could be from the desperation, or maybe my restlessness. But suddenly I'm pushing past her defenses, cornering her against a wall in the hallway. I'm a bird. I'm flying. I'm soaring. No one can stop me now. Elsa is mine. She's always been mine. And I was just too damn afraid to see it.

I'm done being scared.

I'm absolute sick of it.

I'm close. "I want you," I'm closer than ever before. "And I know you want me too, Elsa," I'm whispering. My voice is low. Quiet. Hushed. Frail. Weak. Yet determined.

She's shuddering under my grip, both of my hands are trapping her. And her blush is so alive and red. Her heart is beating. And Elsa is golden from the light. And I'm purple from the darkness. And together we can make a whole array of colors. Just like the boys' sink after Nicholas would dump his paints in the water. I want those colors to stay. I don't want them to ever leave.

For a second, she glances at my lips and moves in but- "I don't..." She's shaking, clasping a hand over her mouth. She wants to kiss me. She wants to kiss me so bad. I can feel it radiating from her. I can smell it on her. She keeps leaning in and then pulling back, fearful, terrified. There's something holding her behind. Something from the very object of her desires, me.

"What are you so afraid of?" I say, holding her close. "I'm right here. I'm ready-"

"No, you're not."

"Why are you making this so difficult?"

"Anna. Just-"

"You're everything," I admit, ducking my head shyly. "God, Elsa, you're everything to me."

My words affect her. She physically pulls back, tries to burrow in the wall. Escape my truthfulness. Hide her own feelings away. She's gasping for air. I can hear her heart thundering. I can see it all in her eyes, heavy, lidded, needy.

But she snaps out of her daze and pushes my arm down while scurrying back into her room, and just before the door closes I run right in after her. I follow her around the kitchen. We glide around the table. A single bulb above us, lighting our blushes. Our bitten lips. Our hearts are beating in unison. She's trying so hard to ignore me. But I'm damn persistent. I will never let her go again.

"Elsa, please."

She looks conflicted. Biting her lip is frustration. "No, you have Kristoff now. You can't cheat on Kristoff."

"But I don't want to be with Kristoff."

"But you are."

"But I really want you."

"But I don't want you!"

"Yes, you do!"

"I just can't-"

"Yes, you can!"

"Anna!" She gasps in annoyance. "Stop!" I move close. And from fear, maybe trauma, she pushes me backwards and I hit the table with a loud thump.

She shoved me. She just shoved me. My forearm begins to ache and I rub it sloppily. Trying to sooth the pain. But it's not just my arms that hurt from digging into her kitchen table so roughly, my damn heart aches. It's burning. I want to cry and when I turn, I must be, because Elsa flies back towards the wall before me and clasps a hand over her mouth. "Anna, I'm so sorry," She's shaking. Fearful. Everything about Elsa screams fear. Anxiety. Panic. Absolute panic. "I didn't mean to- I just-" She's squeezing her eyes tightly. "I don't want you any closer. Please leave."

My fists weld up and I bury them in my eyes. I can't keep doing this. I keep failing. It hurts. Everything hurts. I glance back at her once more. I can hear the storm outside rattle her windows.

We're so separated. Apart from each other. Gasping for air and controlling our hormones from different corners of her kitchen. I want her so bad it hurts.

"Elsa you're just-," I mumble. "You're-" I repeat. I'm scrambling for words, something to prove how I feel. I'm whispering and muttering small tiny sayings. And they're the truest words I have ever spoken. The saddest, most ridiculous, dumbest, stupidest words that have ever slipped past my mouth. But although insignificant, they're also the most honest. They don't make sense. I'm rambling. But Elsa has always done this to me, created me into a stuttering, nervous, mess. "I-"

"Leave."

Elsa rolls against the wall to rip her door open and maybe kick me out, but she accidentally hits the flicker with her back, she gasps. Suddenly. I'm moving. I'm fast. I'm like lightening. I'm pinning her against the wall and our lips are quivering with sobs that just won't rip out. I continue to stare at her mouth, begging to be kissed. It's what I've always wanted and she groans from underneath me. I'm locking her with my hips, in the dark. It's quiet. Not even the storm outside can ruin this moment. Not again.

I can see her eyes, wide, fearful, excited. I can barely breathe as I hold both of her hands beside her stunned face with two clenched fists. We stay in that spot for what feels like days; our breaths aligning; our eyes never moving. I was stuck. Frozen in time. She could see it in my eyes, read it on my face - I am ready. I am so ready.

We don't move. We don't touch. It's just the beginning, a light teaser for what's to come. My heart blossoms in my chest. The world is spinning. Heat spreads all along my body. I'm hot. I'm burning. I'm the sun. And Elsa is the moon. I duck down to rub my lips against her neck, timidly. Elsa rolls her head back and lets out a breathy beautiful, light, airy, high pitched, gasp.

It was the peak of the roller coaster. The start of it all. Just that little voice of recognition. That small little gasp of joy. She wants this. She wants me. There's no more denying this.

Us.

And suddenly I'm so aroused I can barely understand what's going on. Like the crack of a gun, the races are off. The fireworks spark. Crack. Fire. Burning. Sensational. I'm sloppy and disoriented as she pulls me closer and I'm fumbling with the buttons on her shirt. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't want to fuck her. Not now. Not here. But I do though. I really do. I want to fuck Elsa so bad I can barely stand it anymore.

Her shirt comes off first, as it flies to the ground. And to help, I lift my arms so she can rip the last barrier between us off my shoulders. We can't stand to be apart. We can't stand to be separated. We're back at the wall, her back thumps against the surface and I pull her hands up, feverishly, by my face. We're touching and gripping and fiddling. Her lips are on my cheeks and her fingers are deep in my hair. I'm bucking my hips and gasping. My breathing is so heavy. And we're creating a musical with our voices. We're singing. We're putting on a damn show. A private show. Just me and her and no one else.

We're moving around the apartment, grabbing and pulling and pushing and thrusting. Silverware crackles against her tiles. Chairs shuffle while we skim past them. A lamp tips over. Things are kicked aside and thrown around. Until finally we're in her bedroom, the window above us casting an eerie blue glow.

I thrust against her hard, unable to hold back. And then I hear it — "Anna," Low, sultry, sexy, in my ear and she curves her back in an attempt to move just a bit closer. I can feel her chest against mine. Her hands wrapped around me. Breathy, beautiful, little whispers echoing through the room. Through my head. Around us.

She knows what I'm saying with my breaths. She knows how I feel just by looking at me. I'm like a virgin with her. Careful and shy and just so damn restless. I'm impatient. I want her now. There's nothing else I can do about it anymore.

"You're beautiful," I say.

She doesn't know how long I've wanted her. She doesn't know how long it's been. We push back from one another. The glow just makes her radiant and I watch her smile shyly, duck her head and bit her lip. I can't breathe. I'm blinded by her beauty. My fingers move on their own, against her cheeks, freezing cold, they skim around her skin, they feel her blush.

We are alive. We are alive and well and simply messy.

I'm itching for a taste of her lips. And so I pull her close, our noses are bumping, our heads are craning, my eyes are shutting, my shoulders hunch up, hearts thumping and blood moving, coursing through our veins, and finally, finally, after four years of games, pressure, love, guilt, sadness, despair, lust — I kiss her.

I kiss Elsa.

It's not neat.

It's not tidy.

It's not cute.

It's not simple.

Its complex. And messy. And dirty. And sloppy. And disorganized, as I gyrate against her and throw my hands around her bare shoulders, all the while she grabs my waist — God, we moan in each other's mouths. It's like kissing air. It's like breathing in roses. I can't move. I can't breathe. It's all I've ever wanted in my life. It's all I've ever desired. It's what I spend my nights thinking about. What my daydreams consist of. With lips crashing, fingers grabbing, eyes closed tightly, moaning and gasping, heads turning this way and that way, I grab a fist full of her hair and push her in for more. It's years of tension being released in the confines of her room. It's years of weary glances. Cuddles that shouldn't go too far. Hand holding that feels almost too intimate to record.

I'm on fire. I'm burning. My pulse is racing. All the while Elsa is freezing. She's a block of ice beneath me; her fingertips dig into my scalp as I bit her lower lip, nibbling the corners of her mouth. Biting at her jawline.

I want more.

_I want more._

**_I want more._**

It's not at all like my fantasies.

I'm completely turned on and she's moaning in my ear, gasping for air, anything she can give me I take. I've wanted this for so long. I can't hold back any longer.

"Elsa, I-" I kiss her again. "I'm in love with you."

"I know," She says in between panting and kissing. Her breasts are tinted red, same as her cheeks and I push some hair from her forehead and kiss her again, feverishly, wildly. "I always saw you… staring."

"I couldn't help myself," I kiss her neck, then her tinted skin, then I attach my lips to her jawline, licking and lapping her taste. "I still can't."

"Anna-"

"You're beautiful," I say again.

She moans. "I love you, Anna," And my arousal spikes. My skin crawls with absolute admiration. My senses are heightened. I feel a chill storm through my back and up to my ears.

She moans loudly as I bite her collarbone, hard, and then I'm reaching to pull down my pants and I don't know what's happening anymore. It's all so hazy and confusing. There's a cloud around us. I want to be naked. I want her to be naked. I want to fuck her. Now.

It's so fucking hot, and Elsa is so fucking cold, as our breaths make clouds around us. We sizzle when we touch. I'm melting her ice. She's freezing my fire. The sparks are radiating around us. Casting shadows this way and that way. Our energy parallels. We have no bounds. But we continue, and her hands are ice against my bare back as I push her further into the wall and grind against her thigh between my legs as she does the same to me.

Soon, we're thrusting at random, unpredictable times. Her skirt is sinfully high and my underwear is damp. We're clawing at each other. Mouths open in ecstasy. Lips grazing and kissing. Eyes fluttering and noses pressing. Chins being pushed into collarbones which are being pushed into shoulders which are being pushed into ribs. I can feel her bones, lovely, beautiful, cold, soft, amazing, strong — I love her.

She's my city. She's my skyscrapers. My precious, precious, New York. I adore her gleaming signs. Her crowded, tight, alleyways. Her beautiful lights that shine at night. And the honking of taxi's all day long. I fall deeper and deeper into her streets. I'm falling deeper for her. For Elsa.

And it's cold.

It's so fucking cold.

It hurts. My skin hurts from the chill around us.

And somewhere in the background of our moans I can hear, faintly, the crackling of ice. The small tinting noises of glass snapping.

My eyes snap shut because I'm so close. And I know Elsa is too as she continues to gasp out my name, grinding over my leg and I'm almost there with her — just one. More. Thrust. I'm trying to keep my eyes open, I want to see her. I've always dreamed of her face — so when I squint, just past my shuddering orgasm, I watch with quiet admiration. Beautiful Elsa. The light against her, eyes shut tightly, mouth open, lips red and swollen, wet, aching to be kissed, and her cheeks, bright, redder than any red I've ever seen. She ducks into me, presses her face into my neck and I hear her gasping, her shaking. We did it. We- and then the shattering of ice — I see it — the window above us breaks, ice crackles all around me. I fall backwards and I watch as Elsa ducks from the broken shards of glass when she collapses to her arms and knees —

I'm shocked.

I'm scared.

There's blood on my face and I can barely register the taste as Elsa's fingertips leave fractals of ice around her and how she's scrambling to cover up the long thick shards of snow and cold. I want to say her name, something, but I'm absolutely terrified. I skim the room quickly. It's all happening so fast, as ice scales up the walls, around the window, into Elsa. We lock eyes, finally, across the room, and I can see she's ashamed. She's humiliated.

Soon a storm, a powerful wind blows through the room, her table is knocked over, chairs, kitchen supplies, the lamps tip over and Elsa is fearful and covered with passing horrid flurries.

I'm still bleeding.

And it doesn't make much sense. But I realize it. It clicks so perfectly in my head. She's cold all the time. She loves the cold. She loves anything cold.

Elsa is controlling the storms.

Elsa can control ice.

I'm still bleeding.

And everything turns to white.


	7. Chapter 7

**200 FOLLOWERS! This is amazing! Thanks again guys. Just want to thank a series of people, you all know who you are ;) **

** This chapter was a toughie. So good fucking luck.**

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You Are - Chapter 7

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I keep scratching at the scar on my face. It's not deep. Not the deepest wound I've ever received, but still quite a feat. I've had many more painful, more agonizing cuts — usually, shockingly, given to me from the most trustworthy of people. My father accidentally tripped me down a hill — I now have 4 stitches under my chin. You can't notice them unless you search. The only person who knows this little flaw in my design is Elsa, who found the small scar while staring at my face while I slept one night. Though, besides my family and a few friends, Elsa has been the only one who has given me_ two_ infamous types of scars: The ones on my skin and the ones on my heart.

I awake from my dream terribly aroused and uncomfortable — it's another one about Elsa, up against a wall, _gasping_ my name — due to the sound of hammers drilling away from next door.

I have snapped into reality from slumber like this for the past four days. And out of these four days, I have Elsa staying with me, sleeping on my bed while I timidly, awkwardly, sleep on the floor. We talk when we must. Usually busying ourselves with work, jobs, food — it seems we'd try anything to be out of the house, away from each other. Though it was only a few days ago that Elsa was screaming my name in absolute bliss, now it all feels a bit daunting. A bit scary. Because the scar on my face is from Elsa. And so is the thin, light, almost white patch of hair, rolled into my braids every morning.

"Was it your first time?" I asked her quietly, "With- When I-" I was scrambling for words, twisting my white strand of hair.

She kept staring at me. The scar on my face. My hair. And then snapped out of her haze to reply. "First time casting…_ice_?" She says the word thickly, like it won't come out unless she cries. "Or-"

"Sex," I blushed, looked down. "Our sex- We- When we fucked."

It was so awkward. The tension was thick and I didn't know whether to kiss her or run in fear. My scar burned a bit. My hair would never be the same.

"No."

And that was the last conversation we had.

Now I'm restless in my covers, aching to slip a few fingers down my shorts and relieve myself. But Elsa is right above me, sleeping on _my_ bed soundlessly, wrapped in _my_ sheets with elegance, as the light from my window gleams down upon her _beautiful_ form. I'm mesmerized. I've always wanted to see her in my bed, sleeping, but with different conditions concerning us. We'd be dating. And having sex for the first time, like two new lovers, would be virginal and innocent. I'd wake to her in the morning, wrapped in my sheets, similar to as she is now but I'm beside her instead of standing before her. My arm wrapped loosely around her pale, shimmering, sun kissed back, bare and naked. We'd be open. For the whole world to see. Nothing to hold us back or- there would be shards of ice sticking out of my mattress though. Dripping, due to the sun. I'd be freezing. Cold. We'd probably fight for the blankets and-

I frantically wipe my tears away, chewing on my lower lip.

God, it's not about the sex. It was_ never_ about sex. That's just a plus to the relationship, an add-on to something so perfect and tranquil. Elsa's powers just soil it all. I'm sorry, they just ruin it all for me. I'm terrified even though I'm not too hurt. Why would she keep this from me? Why would she hide this power? It's unnatural. It's inhuman. But it's _Elsa_. I'm just so confused.

She won't tell me anything.

She knows I know. So, why are we separated as ever, even under the same roof?

When I pour two coffees, Elsa finally rises to the scene. Her hair is crazy, eyes lidded. I want to kiss her. "It's not cold," I mutter, directing my gaze to the mug in my grip.

And she nods stiffly, still in sleep mode. "I can fix that. Hand it over," Her hand stretches out to the side of the bed and I crawl onto the mattress. Our knees are close to touching, and I'm a bit fearful to see what she plans to do as I hand her the mug.

Then, her fingertips glow, a pale, miraculous blue. I'm moving backwards suddenly. Still afraid. And my legs scramble for some friction as I shuffle towards the edge of my bed. All the while the steam from Elsa's coffee dies down. And I hear crackling — that crackling noise. It's not from the men next door doing work; no, it's the sound I heard when- I fall backwards, my mug shatters on the floor, a blanket topples on my head, I burn my hand — all in fear.

Elsa is quick to react, pulling the blanket from me, inspecting my hand; I don't want her to touch me. What if- No, it's Elsa. She wouldn't- I remember the scar and my thoughts are everywhere as she wraps my burnt fingers within her own and cools my pain numbly. I hiss in astonishment and stare at Elsa's concentrating face. Her tongue poking out from full, pink lips. I want to kiss her again, but I pull my hand away, shuffle across the floor and bump my head against the kitchen table.

I haven't seen her powers…since-

"I hope you ladies are dressed in there," Kristoff's playfully teases. His voice booms from past the construction work, through my door.

Elsa and I lock eyes, blush, look away. I inspect my hand while Elsa answers.

I'm still a bit frazzled from what just happened, a bit astonished and amazed, as Kristoff stares at me in wonderment. "Are you going to clean that up?"

I look behind me at the coffee, seeping across my apartment floor. I grumble and rush to get paper towels. I wonder briefly if Elsa could clean the coffee up with her powers. Like freeze the coffee away. Or we can have our own personal ice skating coffee rink. But then again- _my scar…my hair and_- I'm on my knees cleaning as Elsa sips her now cold coffee.

Kristoff laughs. "Maybe you two shouldn't room together anymore. It seems like a madhouse in here."

Elsa just shrugs and sips. "I like it here."

"Well, nothing beats home," I watch Elsa nod stiffly, then sip. We hear more banging from next door. Hammers against nails. Drilling. "Robbers, right? That's why your home is getting fixed?"

Elsa and I exchange glances, nervous, fearful, then nod at Kristoff. I'm feverish and almost slip on my coffee spill when I stand. "Yeah, robbers-"

"Two of them," Elsa adds, nodding at me.

"Big. Ugly-"

"They just pushed my silverware everywhere and-"

"Knocked through the window, it broke and-"

"Messed up my bed sheets."

"In a crazy, wild, mess of-"

"Legs and arms."

"Kissing-"

"Kissing?" Kristoff gives us a look. When did I get so close to Elsa? I'm standing near her, my arms in the air. I blush and clean again.

"I like living here, though," Elsa changes quickly. "Better than living with the boys."

Kristoff laughs at that one.

I feel overwhelming guilt. So does Elsa; I can just see it on her face. We're uncomfortable about lying. We're fearful and worried and panicked. Sometimes I want to scream it from the rooftops, _I fucked Elsa!_ And other times, I'd rather bury the memory for good. Just burn it.

"Speaking of the boys, we're going to see Hans at work so…" He points at the door. "I'll meet you outside in twenty."

He brushes up against me and kisses me. The hammering continues and I block it out when Kristoff licks my bottom lip. It's all so messed up now. It will never be the same. It was messed up when I first kissed him right outside of the building, and I can't even begin to control the situation now. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Elsa, stiff, restlessly trying to fix the bed, trying to fix the coffee spill, trying to fix her hair, trying to fix something besides _us._

I want her to try fixing _me_. Or _her_. Or anything other than the _damn stained sheets._

We don't talk when we get dressed. We separate. Different parts of the room. Like horny little boys who can't look at a bare thigh without getting provoked. I feel…dirty, but I try my best to slip on my dress, scarf, hat and coat while staring at one of my apartment walls like it might have the answer of the universe written on it.

Sometimes, when we get dressed, I can feel Elsa's eyes on me. And I realized a few days ago, when she's staring at me, she's always cold.

I feel a chilly brisk now, passing by my ear, and it's not a ghost. It's _Elsa,_ looking at me. I want to turn around and yell out with a smile, _"I got you!"_ But no, let her look. Let her stare. I've been staring at her for four years, it's about time she catches up.

We're out the door in thirty.

And we get to Buddy's in ten.

The cafe is ours today. It's closed. Either way, everyone sits at our favorite table, by the window. I look out at the city while Kristoff holds my sweaty, clammy hand. And Elsa is poised, sitting up in her seat, hands clasped in her lap. I want to turn over and tell her I love her. I want to_ also_ yell at her and ask her why she's never told me. Why she's keeping this huge secret. No one knows except me.

I feel the weight. The burden of such a secret. It terrifies me. Chills me to the bone. And I keep looking at my hand, which should be terribly burnt, but it's not. I see my reflection in the window. My scar, covered with a Band-Aid. My hair, shining with the light, that white lock, golden. I look different. Like I survived a war. That war being Elsa.

Sometimes, when she thinks I'm asleep at night, I can hear her crying.

I think she can hear me too.

"You okay?" Kristoff whispers in my ear and I snap from my gaze. I turn to him, paralyzed with Elsa's eyes on me.

"I'm fine," I turn. "Are you okay, Elsa?"

And maybe I meant it with some context. Maybe I didn't. Elsa looks ashamed and humiliated. I know she hates the weather like this. I know she can't control it. I know she feels bad about everything. I understand why when, the moments we do talk to one another, are spent with her eyes constantly on my white strip of hair. Or the BandAid on my cheek hiding a scar _she_ gave me. She's so guilty she can barely talk, let alone voice out the truth.

I think she hates herself.

And I want to kiss or hug Elsa, tell her it's going to be okay. I'm scared of her powers too, but that won't stop me from caring about her. She's my city. She needs some protection.

We lock eyes. Stiff. Unwavering. I remember staring at her the same way four days ago. She's up against the wall, I'm kissing her. It comes back in little flashes. It comes back in blurry little visions at the worst times. I blush conveniently, and she matches my color perfectly.

"I'm great," Her voice cracks a bit, but she clears her throat and stares down at the iced coffee being place before her.

I look up at Hans, and he's staring at me. Staring at me with these wide, crazy eyes. And I'm confused, and try to laugh it off, but he stares and he traces the outline of my face with attention. He's looking at my Band-Aid. He's looking at my hair. Then he places my mug down and smiles warmly. His whole mood changes in the blink of an eye. I don't think anyone else at the table notices besides me.

"How's the crew today?" Hans' is cheerful. Bright. He's acting incredibly strange and we haven't talked since the party. "Anna? Why are we in a grumpy mood?"

I first look at Kristoff, then Elsa. It's too damn much right now. "I'm going for a smoke."

He knows that's code for '_yes, I'm in a grumpy mood'_ and follows me with a lighter. Elsa and Kristoff stay inside, God knows what they're doing. Elsa is probably dying of lover's guilt. She fucked Kristoff's girlfriend, me, into oblivion, than endangered my life and changed my hair color. Obviously, that's a conversation I don't want to get into or even _near._

Soon enough, I'm outside Buddy's with Hans. We're not talking. We're sharing a cigarette. We don't hold hands. And it's all so wrong now, isn't it? Not like it was ever right to begin with. But it was at least closer to perfect than anything else in my life at the moment. And now, it's all a bit broken. A bit torn. I want to cry and feel him stroking my hair.

I lie about Elsa.

I lie about it all.

My city is crumbling. It's down for the count. It's really not mine anymore. Elsa is just a city now. Just a beautiful city with a few tall buildings and constant, loud, noises echoing around the street lamps and signs. Snow, white and virginal, piles around us. It's nearing the end of July. And it's been the toughest month of my life.

Then, between silence and more drags, against the cold wisp and chill of Sunday morning, Hans proposes, "Now we're both gay," Thoroughly breaking the ice.

I stiffen, thinking he's talking about my recent affairs with Elsa. But once he looks at me strangely, I fix him up a laugh, nervous and dull, which calms him slightly.

It's okay to laugh once in a while. But at least let it be real.

"Who is he?" I ask. He knows I'm talking about the boy I saw him fucking during our little party four days ago.

Hans isn't as shocked as I wanted him to be. Before anything else, he's worried, staring at me through thick frozen lashes. Cigarette perched in between pointer and middle fingers, meticulously leaning against Buddy's. He looks like such a boy right now. Like one of his brothers._ Like Nicholas._ "Just some guy," He shrugs. "I wasn't even drunk."

I nod and laugh. "_I was._"

"Kristoff was looking everywhere for you."

"Oh yeah?" I take a drag.

"He asked me where you were."

I pass the smoke over. "What did you tell him?"

Hans smokes the last of it and stubs it with the bottom of his shoe. "I didn't tell him the_ truth._"

I feel like Hans knows. I feel like everyone knows. But obviously they don't. How could they? I was so cryptic and quiet about it. It's only been a few days. How can they possibly discover that I cheated on my boyfriend? It must be the nerves or the guilt. I play it cool. I play it safe. If I ignore it long enough, it'll all just go away.

"How is living with Elsa?"

_Horrible. Awkward. The actual definition of sexual tension._ "Fine."

I shrug and pull a smug little grin before Hans shakes his head heavily. He has work to do. I have no idea why he's outside with me. "Her apartment is trashed, huh?"

I gulp. I nod. "Yeah."

"You heard the story, right?" He shakes his head once more, licking his lips. "A robber. I mean how does a robber even-" He laughs. "Elsa has like _five_ locks on her door."

"_Six_." I correct before I laugh, too. It's nervous and weak and I_ know_ he knows. Hans knows me so well that I should just stop hiding things from him. Let him figure me out. Let him go through all the damn trouble. I can barely understand _myself_ anymore. If he can discover what's wrong with me, Hans can get a damn medal. _He fucking deserves it_.

"Her window was broken, right?" He gives me a look. "What else?" His tone is a bit sharp.

"Um," I toy with my braids. "Well, the kitchen was a mess. And her bedroom was destroyed."

Hans nods and has nothing left to say. But he's staring at me. And _he knows._

_He knows._

_He knows._

I'm shuddering. And not from the cold. I just want to say it though. I really want to say it. To either brag or scream in frustration.

"Did you dye your hair?" I flinch a bit when his hand, fast, curves around my white lock. I shudder under his grip.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"New trend."

His throat is tight, constricted. I can see the gains and muscles contorting within every breath he takes. Hans looks as if he's at the verge of words. "You know, Nicholas-" Then he laughs, cuts off, breaks away and smooths his hair back. Like he's trying to cool off. Like he was second away from strangling me. He grins. "Are you and Elsa back to being friends, then?"

"We never stopped," I joke.

But when I look over, Hans isn't smiling. He isn't laughing either. He's sort of neutral. And I've never seen him this way. He's stiff and grounded and twitchy. Like he can't keep still. He lights another cigarette and doesn't offer me a puff. "Do you like her sleeping in your bed, Anna?"

I laugh nervously. Twiddle my thumbs. I reach for a smoke but he pulls away.

"Does it make you feel all _warm_ inside?"

I scoff, look at my feet. Stare at the cigarette in his tight grip. It's snapping under his fist. It's burning and smoking and-

"Do you watch her get undressed?"

"What-" I stop short, appalled, embarrassed. "Fuck you," He's not joking. His voice is seething. Rude. Contempt. Upsetting. I'm sweating already.

_He knows._

_He knows._

_He knows._

"What happened at the party, Anna?"

"Nothing I-" I'm panicking. Stuttering.

_He knows._

_He knows._

"You were with Elsa all night, weren't you?" He pulls me close, in, deep, his breath smells like smoke, I can barely see past the fog. "What did you do?"

"Nothing."

_He knows_

_He knows._

_He knows._

"Did you apologize to her?"

"Maybe."

His hands soften. His gaze calms. He pulls back and sucks on some smoke. "Fine."

My heart slows. My eyes rake over his indifferent posture. I was on the verge of tears and I wipe just below my eyes. I'm shaking and shuddering. The guilt is eating me alive at this point.

_He knows._

_He knows._

**_He knows._**

"You fucked Elsa didn't you, Anna," He's grinning, maniacally. And I'm terrified. I'm shaking in my boots. If Hans knew, _everyone_ knew. Everyone in the _whole goddamn city_ knew now.

I'm shaking and trying to hold him back from going back into Buddy's. I'm crying. Sobbing, tugging at his shirt and trying to scream some sort of stop in his ear. He burns me with the cigarette, by accident or on purpose, I'll never know, but it doesn't even matter. I crawl before him, push him away. We stumble inside. We fight, we're screaming, causing a scene. It's embarrassing and humiliating and finally, finally, I push Hans towards the counter, which he grips. His knuckles are white. His eyes are wide and crazy. I'm mimicking him. I look just as insane.

"You regret it now, don't you?" He screams. "I told you it wouldn't work out!"

I'm panting for air and I'm stiff. My shadow is so long. I know Elsa and Kristoff are watching. "Why?" I say desperately, my voice high and strained, tears building. "Why couldn't you just l_et us be_?"

"You two don't work well."

"We work perfectly! Or we _did!_"

"What is-"

"Shut up, Kristoff!" I growl, my eyes never moving from Hans. I fear if I direct my gaze behind me, he'll make a run for it and do something crazy. I'm too damn upset to even move though. "We were fine before you fucked _everything_ up, Hans!"

"I had to!"

"Why?"

"Because-," he stutters, he's angry, he's madder than ever before. "_She's dangerous_!"

Elsa must know we're talking about her now. And she does. With the sounds of chairs scrapping against the floor she stands from her seat and we look to find her panting, worried, white as a ghost, frail, weak. My city is crumbling. She's falling. I'm too mad to even think straight. I'm just so frustrated.

It's silent.

It's quiet.

"You know?" She says to Hans. Her voice is small, tiny. Like how we all feel.

And Hans scrunches his eyes tightly. As if to scold himself internally.

"You know about Elsa?" I murmur to him, shocked.

"You too?" He's staring at me with wide unfocused eyes. And I'm in the spotlight.

"What is going on here?" Kristoff rises, walks behind me. "You guys are screaming, can we all just calm down?"

Hans snaps. "No," He points a finger right at Elsa, and I'm already thundering with rage. "You and her should have never happened, Anna. And I-"

"What are you going to do?" I scream. "Make me stop loving her?"

It's already out in the open. I've never been so out of breath due to a conversation. No, this isn't a little convo. This isn't a debate. I_t's a damn argument._

Kristoff is frozen. "What?"

I ignore, I'm still on a damn roll, "You're just so against me and Elsa-"

"_Anna_-" Elsa's voice is staggering, waving, annoyed, desperate. She's begging me to stop. _Pleading._

I ignore. "Because, Hans, you still love me after four years of-"

He laughs, loudly, his head is thrown back and he pushes Kristoff away from me to get close. "Oh, Anna." He grins. "If only there was someone out there that loved you."

And it hurts. And it burns. Elsa loves me, right?

"Trust me," He pokes my chest. "I actually fucking _despise_ you."

"I don't believe you," I sniffle, wipe my eyes with a shaky fist.

He's growling now, low, deep. "You want to know why I don't want you and Elsa together?" He rises to the challenge, he's poking me, I'm crawling backwards. "For one thing, she's way too _good_ for you-"

"That's not-"

"You know that one's true. You've been using Kristoff since the moment you met him!"

I don't dare turn around to see the boy behind me, probably shaking with anger and regret.

"You're_ quieter_ without her."

"Hans-"

"You aren't as _empowered_ without her."

"You-" I fall back against the tables, Elsa catches me. She's terrified, I'm terrified. I can see a blimp of Kristoff, right behind Hans, worried, confused, mad. And then Hans pushes Elsa away, as if she's diseased, as if he's burned. What is happening? Why is Hans acting like this?

"She has that power! The ice!" He grabs my arm, it hurts.

"Hans, please-"

He rips my bandied off, pokes my scar, dipping down into my skin and I hiss and pull back. "She did this to you, didn't she?" He's loud. Smiling grimly. Like it's all a fucking joke.

"Why are you so against her?" I shout. "I-"

"I know you're scared of her, Anna!" He's shaking me. "I know you're _fucking_ terrified!"

"I'm not!" I am.

"You are!"

"Well, why are you so scared of her, huh?" I growl.

"Because-"

"Why?"

"She's-"

"_Why!?_"

"_She's a monster!_"

The only noise is the radio above us, playing some soft, pop song. It's not at all fitting this eerie, silent mood. And then a cup from the table my ribs are rubbing against, slides off and slams against the floor. I'm still. Lifeless. We're all frozen as his words impact every single person in the room. I look at Elsa first but she's already gone. I'm up quickly, I brush past Kristoff, but Hans grabs me and pulls me back and wrestles me until I'm crying and sobbing. The front door shakes as it slams shut.

I'm screaming her name.

I'm shouting it from the rooftops.

I can't breathe.

And I hit Hans' chest. I pound away and I shout and I kick and I cry.

There's a storm outside, rattling the windows. The door bursts open, snow filters through the room. I've never felt stronger winds, as I'm blown completely off my feet and towards the back of the cafe. I'm shuddering in pain. My head hurts, my eyes burn, I need Elsa. I have to find her.

Kristoff and Hans close the door successfully.

"Fucking freak," Hans murmurs, staring at the snow. "She's a freak."

"You are _horrible!_" I shout. I get up shockingly. "You are-" My voice stops, weak, frail, I look outside at the storm. It's the worst thing I've ever seen. Snow, large flat flakes of it, piling up. I can't go out there. Elsa is out there.

"You need to stay away from, Elsa." He commands me. Like I'm a dog. "She's dangerous."

"The only dangerous one here is you!" I spat, weeping.

Hans gives me one last, meaningful look. It's_ pity._ It's absolute pity. And I'm_ humiliated._ This is the breaking point of our relationship. This is it. I thought we were doing so well, so fine. Hans is only doing this to protect me, right? I've never seen him look so…_fearful_ of another person before.

_He's terrified of Elsa._

I watch Hans, a mix of sadness and anger, walk off towards the back room, soundlessly.

Kristoff is quiet. Silent. He's sitting at our table. His eyes squeezed tight. Hands pushed in too far, too deep.

I keep staring out at the storm. Maybe Elsa will come back. Maybe all is not lost. If I squint really hard, maybe I can see her.

"Did you kiss her?" He mutters.

I don't respond.

"Did you-" he stops there. Squeezing his hands tightly.

I don't have much else to say. I'm staring out at the window. It's cold and clammy. There's so much snow I can barely see the road. Maybe Elsa's back at my apartment. But I have the straining, terrible, feeling she's ran away. Where is Elsa? Why isn't she here? Why am I not out there with her?

Why am I stuck at Buddy's while the love of my damn, embarrassing, life, goes out into the cold and suffers alone? If she should suffer, I want to suffer with her. I want the same scars strewn across her body. The tears down her cheek. I can be a mirror to her emotions, I can copy every little _painful_ feeling and make it my own. Why suffer alone when I_'m here_?

Here to at least numb the pain.

To at least...cry with Elsa. Instead of sob on separate beds, separate spaces, with the_ same_ tears, streaming down our _same_ cheeks, over the _same fucking thing_.

And then it snaps so clearly in my head. It's not in waves. It's not silent and frail. It's like a _crack_ of thunder. A sudden realization.

"I love her." I've always thought those words sounded strong and yet they're weak from my lips. "I love her so much."

The room's silence is deafening.

My city falls before my eyes. And I have no way to stop it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry about the wait! And also just updating this chapter and then deleting it. I thought I could get away with it. Guess not haha.**

**ANYWAY, apparently this story is very popular now. Which excites me to no end. I just want to thank all of the people who followed me on tumblr, the fanartists, the reviewers, people that are sticking around and even people that aren't.**

**Thank you so much.**

**Enjoy.**

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You Are - Chapter 8

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I have tried to file a missing persons report seven times already. They say Elsa needs to be gone for at least 24 hours before they can start looking for her. I can't help but feel like the police automatically go to the thought of finding dead bodies, instead of real live people, lost and confused. I almost vomit. Thinking about Elsa...dead. I can't let my thoughts go there. I can't let myself go there. I stay far away from that idea, that thought. As long as I ignore it, it should just go away.

But the drilling and the hammering next door keeps me awake at night. Its spiraling madness affects me as I fold up onto my floor and stare endlessly at the missing spot in my bed.

Elsa slept there.

_Elsa slept there._

_**Elsa slept there**_.

I'm disgusted that they're fixing up an apartment for a girl who won't even be able to use it when they're done.

Because Elsa's dead.

And nobody seems to care but me.

I tried calling her cell for the hundredth time last night. She didn't answer. Like usual. The messages I leave on her phone have begun to worsen by the hour. They started off frantic, pleading, guilty, small. Then they grew big, questioning, accusing, mean. Now it's just sad. Pitiful. I sob in my messages to her. I weep openly. I say everything I've ever wanted to say in those messages.

Last night I found her phone, dead, underneath my bed.

It's all just so lost now.

"Elsa's dead," I announce outside Hans' door one evening. We haven't talked since the day my arms were bruised by his brutal grip. I still have the slight swell of black and blue on my forearm hidden with a coat.

I don't know why I said it. Maybe to clarify. Maybe to sympathize with myself. I'm lost. I'm just unfocused and confused. Why hasn't anyone seen Elsa? Oh, because she's dead. Why hasn't she shown up to my apartment yet? Oh, because she's dead. Of course. Elsa is on the street corner somewhere, in the never-ending storm of august...shriveled up and-

I choke up. I'm crying. Sobbing. I've really lost all hope. I used the door as a weight. And it's all sort of funny in a way, because I keep finding all these doors in my face. And none of them are ever open.

Elsa's door was always fucking open-

"She's not dead."

The door cracks open. I'm shocked, utterly wondrous. "What?"

Hans is there, in his boxers, shaving his beard, but leaving the sideburns. Some foam is on his chin and lip. "She's not dead."

In a flurry of sputtering and testy fingers, I grab his arms and pull him towards me. "You've seen her? You've found her? She's safe? Where is she?" I look beside him. "Elsa!" I call out, trying to brush past his meaty arm. "Elsa, I'm right-"

"She's not here, Anna," He scolds, pushing me back outside of the apartment. He winces when I wince, and looks almost sorry. "She's not dead though, either."

"How do you know?"

He looks out at the snow tattered window, leaking some light into the hallway. "The storm rages on."

I nod. I nod and I actually smile.

"As long as the storm keeps going-"

"We know she's fine."

It feels like a weight has been lifted. And I visibly relax. My breathing calms. My sweaty palms are brushed against my skirt in a quick attempt to calm my flaring emotions.

Hans and I have always had a connection, some weird sort of alien pull, like we can read each other's minds without the slightest bit of strain.

"You're scared of her," I mumble at him unbelievably as he finally pulls his wide, fearful eyes away from the window. His hands shake briefly and he tenses quickly. Big, tough, Hans is back. Manipulative, confusing, frustrating Hans has returned.

"If you knew why, you'd be scared, too," He says stiffly, and then I have so many questions. What does he know? Why is he hiding it? The door slams in my face.

And when I knock again, no one answers.

But Elsa is alive, and I stare out of the window, concerned, worried - I just want my city back. My girl back. I can't be free without her. I feel chained up. And I choke once again, because that's probably how she felt for four years with me - chained up, a...monster.

I curse under my breath, and I go outside. And I walk down the streets and I go to me and Elsa's favorite spots. A small bench off of third. The park. Toying with the fairs.

She's nowhere. And the city is silent, quiet for once. It's horrible. The winter has completely destroyed life as we know it. Everyone is bolted inside, shut away. Elsa has created us all to become like her, scared and closed off. I don't blame her. Of course I don't. I just want her back.

I can't even begin to understand the pain she feels.

Kristoff doesn't answer my calls much, either.

And really, I've never felt more alone. In the mornings, I stay in my room and try to break the habit of buying two coffees. Then by the afternoon, I'm out to look for Elsa. Then at night, I'm calling the police station.

But it's all so useless. This feeling of absolute helplessness is leaving me weak, frail — I can barely stomach anything. I can barely speak.

But the storm rages on. It blows and it blows and soon enough, the skyscrapers will be tilted, just slightly, by the cold wind. We're all used to it now. It's been like this for a week - cold, quiet. Eerie. It's disgustingly beautiful, even when some of us are in such horrible times.

After the 8th day of Elsa's disappearance, I crawl into her newly renovated apartment. They finished the job. It looks good at new. It's empty. Not because some of the furniture is gone, not because my slab of counter-top is torn and wrecked, not because the drapes have been thrown out — Elsa isn't in here. She's not anywhere. She's not on her bed, reading a glossy, cheesy, romance story. She's not in her kitchen, flipping pancakes like a pro, smiling warmly at me from the hot open stove. She's not sitting by the table, flipping through her mail. She's not waking up with me in the morning, all lazy smiles and soft, hoarse, giggles. She's not by the window, under my arms, kissing me. She's not-

I cave into myself, clasp a hand over my lips and try hard to breath. Try so hard to not cry.

And then Kristoff comes along, he walks right by the open door.

"Hey," I mutter.

We haven't talked since Elsa disappeared.

He's staring at me. "You miss her?"

I nod, wiping under my eyes.

He's watching me, I can feel it. And it causes a shudder to run down my spine. I can feel his loathing, his hatred.

"Was she good in bed?" He growls.

And my eyes widen and I snap my neck in the process of turning to look at him. Kristoff looks terrible. Patchy beard. Eyes dark. Bags. I'm grimacing. And I don't look any better.

"I'm sorry-" He stutters, then rubs his eyes, "That's such a rude question-"

"She was," I answer. "And it was rude."

He nods at his feet, holding back words.

"You can be mean to me," I laugh horribly. "You're allowed to be."

Kristoff is still staring at the ground, and then finally I watch his eyes play upwards. "Were you allowed to be mean to me?"

And with that he's off.

I'm left alone in Elsa's room.

But I can't let it end like this. No way. I can't just sit back and watch everything go to shit- I sprint, fast, out of the room, hearing the locks click in place behind me as I speed behind Kristoff, run up the stairs, meet him at the top, grab his hands in my own and kiss every finger. He pulls back, as if burnt, and I take this opportunity to crawl into the apartment, knowing perfectly well Hans is out on the balcony smoking with a coat on. I find him. I grab his arm, I'm mad — no furious — maybe just confused and determined.

"Tell me everything," I say, holding back such violent actions. Hans just stares at me and looks as bewildered as Kristoff who is stumbling behind me.

"You brought her in our home?" He's speechless, pointing at me like I'm a disaster waiting to happen. That's probably true. "She cheated on you. She's not allowed in here!"

Kristoff just sighs and rubs his eyes some more. He's just so done with all of us. He's really just done with this drama. "I'm leaving soon," he says to me or Hans. "I'm leaving next week."

This is news to me, while Hans just shrugs. "Okay, so-"

"I want us all to be friends when I leave," He announces, angrily. "This is all just so stupid- Just tell Anna what you know."

"Kristoff knows something and I don't?" I turn to Hans. "I have been crying for days- Just tell me-"

"We've all been hurting, Anna," Hans growls. "Don't act like you're the only one here who's got a tear or two."

I wince, I deserve it. But I don't have time for a pity party. "I need to find Elsa."

Hans takes a drag. "Maybe she's better off alone."

I growl. "You and I both know that's a horrible idea."

"She was a shut in for years, Anna," He narrows his eyes at me. "It seems like a great idea."

"You're just scared of her-"

"Why are we all so scared of Elsa?" Krsitoff cracks out, stepping between me and Hans. He laughs, shockingly, and pulls his hair back, "I mean- We're talking about small, little Elsa here-"

"She has powers," I reply sternly.

"Which we should all be weary of," Hans says back.

"I'm not weary-" I snap my fist to my chest. "I'm not even scared."

"Anymore."

"Just-" I grit my teeth. "Just tell me how you know about Elsa's powers, when apparently, she's been a shut in for years." I wag my fingers around. "You're lying. You're hiding something."

"Just tell her," Kristoff mutters again. He's still staring at me like I kicked his puppy. But I would never lay a finger on Sven. I love that little guy. And he's the only one I haven't hurt yet. "Hans-"

"I saw her."

I'm frozen.

Soon shock turns to absolute rage.

Absolute anger rises up to my throat, I bottle my voice, but it screams. It echoes. "What?" I reach out to grab his neck, but he hastily pulls back and I follow him towards the edge of his balcony. "You saw Elsa?" My voice shrieks, my voice echoes, it carries for miles. I'm stuttering, flailing, I'm trying to control myself but it all just comes out in one go. "Why didn't you tell me? Where is she? Can we find her? Why isn't she here now?"

Hans looks guilty. His eyes are lidded, heavy and he's biting his lip to settle himself. He turns abruptly, flicks some smoke off of the balcony. Calms down and turns back into manipulative Hans. Rugged Hans. "I'm scared of her," He admits. "She's dangerous."

My voice is weak. "I don't care."

"I'm just trying to protect you."

"In the worst way possible."

"But, it's still working."

I'm collecting my thoughts. "That's how you knew Elsa was okay? You saw her?"

He nods softly, "Yesterday."

I'm extremely frustrated, but I hold it down. "Where? Was she okay? What did she look like?"

"She was fine."

"Was she-" I pull back a hair behind my ear. "Was she safe?"

He looks off at the NYC horizon. He doesn't answer me. This increases my anxiety. Just because the storm is brewing doesn't mean Elsa is alive or not. The storm has nothing to do with Elsa at all except that she started it.

She could be in danger at this very moment.

"If you're so afraid of Elsa, why the hell were you trying to get her with Kristoff?" I mutter angrily.

"You wanted me to get with Elsa?"

Hans crosses his arms and pouts like a damn child. And suddenly I'm not mad at him anymore. Just…used to it. I'm so numb to Hans's ridiculousness that I'm starting to just go with the flow at this point. Whatever, shocker, big whoop, Hans tricked me. Hans tried to protect me with the worst plan ever. He's had better ideas before. This one was just the dumbest of them all.

"He doesn't like when his plans don't work out," I tell Kristoff.

And then Hans turns; he's staring at me for a while, wide eyed and…wonderfully. Almost proudly. Like this has all been a test and I just passed. "Go see Nicholas. He has all the answers."

I feel like I was just awarded with a quest.

"Nicholas-" I turn to Krsitoff, shocked. "Where is he?"

"Not dead yet," Hans laughs. His joke is horrible.

"He's at the hospital," Kristoff clarifies, pushing Hans away. "He's at the hospital by-"

"I want Anna to find him, alone," Hans pokes his chest. "Why should you even help her when all she's done is use you?" He speaks to Krsitoff like some sort of drill sergeant. "She's bad blood."

"We both dated her- We both know how she is-"

"Which is the very reason we ditch her."

"I'm standing right here-"

Hans flicks some ash at me and I back away. "Go away," he mutters, "Go find Nicholas alone, you've already done enough damage here."

I look to Kristoff, but he seems to agree. His eyes scream anger, but there's this shy little smile, begging to be released. I understand completely and I move on. "Thank you," I mutter. And I realized later on, that it was the first time in a while that I thanked someone with my whole being.

I knew where Nicholas was, after hours of finding which hospital he was located at, when Kristoff called me. I still haven't apologized to him yet.

I can't even begin to know how to.

When night strikes, and I make sure the storm is still waving by, I go into the hospital directed to me by Kristoff. I settle in the waiting room. Follow a nurse down the expanse of white hallways until I'm knocking lightly at a door, feeling my heart in my throat, and twisting the knob — I see Nicholas.

He hasn't changed. Even with the wires and tubes jutting from his skin. He's still strong. Still excellent. Maybe I think this because I'm remembering him from so long ago. With his big boots, wide smile, cigarette in hand. I'm crying before I even enter the room, because it's Nicholas; my Nicholas on that bedspread; my Nicholas dying right before my fucking eyes.

I ask Elsa to keep me strong. As if she's a god I pray and worship to. I believe that wherever she is, she can hear me, and thinks of me the same way.

Nicholas doesn't notice me until he sees my reflection in the window he's staring out of. And even then, he doesn't turn around. Always the weird and dramatic one.

"How are you?" He asks me through the window, smiling at my sad smile. "You look the same."

"It hasn't been too long," I mutter, wiping under my eyes.

And then he turns when he hears me sniffle. "Don't cry."

"I'm not."

We're smiling warmly at each other. For some reason, Nicholas calms me down significantly. Even when he looks like hell, I feel at peace. Like he can do anything. But the idea of his sickness, rotting his insides, making him unable to live — it makes me sick.

I pull a chair by his bedside, and sit down. "How are you?" I want to know everything about him. I've never felt so excited before.

"I asked first."

I grin. "I'm fine."

He grins back. "You don't look fine at all. Your eyes are all puffy, which means you've been crying."

"Well- Seeing you like this, I mean-"

"Not crying now," He curves my jaw with a, with a weak, gentle hand, "Crying before. Before you even walked into this hospital."

I nod stiffly and take his fingers into mine. I play with every single little vein and cut. I bet he doesn't paint anymore, but judging from his nails, I could say otherwise. All artists have paint under their fingernails. All the good ones, anyway. I laugh and wipe my tears and continue to stroke and coddle his fingers, like they're precious jewels, something to behold — even though I have a set of my own.

"How's your condition?" I stutter a bit, "I mean-"

"What's wrong with me?" He smiles. "They don't know. Some weird problem."

I stare at him. Like a child. "Are you going to die?"

He laughs, then coughs, then pulls me close. So close my hat falls off, which means my braids slap him in the eyes as he's crouching at my neck.

And then I see it. At the top of his head.

My heart stopped beating.

Because it really can't be possible.

"Do you know Elsa?" I say. "Like really know her. Not just of her."

We aren't looking at each other. We're still hugging. I'm staring at the white strip of hair on his head, similar to mine. We match. We should be happy we found someone who looks like the other. We're too peas of the same pod. Two similar cards in a deck.

But that can only mean one thing-

"I loved her," He tells me, "I loved her with all my heart."

And it chokes me up and pounds into my throat. Because he's not talking about the kind of friendship love. Not the caring neighborly love. No, he's speaking about my love; the kind that fucking rips your heart out at the tiniest problem; the kind that flies away when kisses are pecked and dies when kisses are placed. I'm soundlessly watching him. And he's watching me. And it's like we just know. We just get it.

"I love her, too," I mutter.

We stare. Contemplating.

"You met her?"

I'm going back in time now. Just like the last time we talked. The last time we shared a cigarette, out by the Chinese restaurant, stubbing the bud out with our boots. He told me not to see Elsa. He told me she was bad, even back then. Everything sort of makes sense now. His fear. His knowledge. He even contradicted himself.

"You knew her even back then," I mumble out, pulling back. "You got her out of her room."

Nicholas is staring at me wildly. "Well no, she-" And then he glances at my hair.

And then-

"Wait. You love her?" He says it differently now. Like spitting it at me. Like he's humiliated we could ever love the same person. "You love Elsa?"

I laugh nervously. "Well can you blame me? You know how she is."

"How she was," He's bitter now. "She hasn't come to visit me yet. I haven't seen her in years."

"But you know her better than I do."

"Is that why you're here?" He brushes his hair back with a shaky hand, his golden thread of hair peeks out; it's in the open now. We share the same mark. The same baring. We're stamped with the same sickness, the same sort of reminder: we both love Elsa, we both kissed her, we both had sex with her. She did this to us, she caused me this wound, she gave me this hair — but I did the worst damage of all. I broke her heart.

Nicholas and I are more alike than ever before. And we haven't even seen each other in years.

"Elsa is missing and-"

"She's missing?" His voice his high, worried. "We have to find her. We have to-" he goes to climb from the bed, but his legs, frail, skinny, thin, bones with some skin, clatter beside me and Nicholas falls spectacularly onto the floor.

I scream and rush to his aid but he pushes me aside and lays on the floor and growls.

"We have to find her."

"I'm trying-"

"Try harder!" He screams, staring at me wildly. Nicholas always had a quick temper. "Goddamn it, you kissed her, don't you love her?"

"I do-" I stutter, "I love her so much."

"Then, if you love her, why are you here? Why aren't you out there looking for her?"

I watch this poor man crawl on the floor, and I can't even help him up in fear of his shouting. So I watch and I stare, like some sort of monster, like an animal.

"How did you know Elsa?" I ask.

He groans.

"How did you get her out of her room?" I ask again.

"She wasn't always a shut-in!" He staggers to his feet, shaky, grips the bed. "You don't even know her like I do."

He's right. I look at my feet, ashamed.

"You aren't even good enough to save her. How can I possibly trust you to save her?"

"I-" I have no words left. I shake my head. I cry. I let the tears fall; I can't even rub them away and pretend my reality is snapping in half.

"Get out of my room."

"Nicholas-"

"Get out," His voice raises.

"Look, I'm sorry I kissed Elsa, okay?" I cry out, my voice snaps, "I'm sorry-"

"I don't care that you kissed the love of my life!" He shouts.

"You don't have to lie to me. It's me, Nicholas. It's Anna!"

He glares at me, he shakes his head. "You're not Anna anymore; you're just some selfish little girl," He coughs. "Hans told me what you did to our cousin. He never told me the girl was Elsa though. My Elsa."

My Elsa.

His Elsa.

I feel a swell of jealousy plague me. I feel like falling, clutching my heart. I'm the worst, the utter worst.

He cares.

He cares so fucking much.

"Your Elsa…" I cover my mouth. "_Yours_," I whisper in a daze.

"How could someone like _you_ possibly get her out of that apartment and not_ me_?" He exclaims, shouting. Almost desperately tugging at his cheeks, trying to think. "She's dangerous, I told you that! I can handle her._ You can't_!"

I have nothing else to say. I'm staring at my feet, squeezing my eyes tightly. Willing the thoughts and shouts to go away.

"And now you're coming to see me? Asking me to help you love her more?" He's screaming. "You're so selfish, Anna! You are-"

And then a nurse comes in, yells at me, yells at Nicholas for standing. I'm shaking, frozen, but her yelling and his yelling snaps me from my shock. I'm rushing out of the room, grabbing my purse feverishly, sucking in sobs and dry heaving. And by the time I'm outside, I realize I'm a sobbing blubbering mess.

I call Elsa's cellphone, even though it's under my bed.

I leave a message.

I pretend she'll call me back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks for everything guys. Your all beautiful. There's two more chapters left to the story, and then it is over. Finished. Finale. I'm a little upset but let's not focus on that this second right?**

**Anyway, just want to say thank you for all your kind words except tai, because he's a little bitch. So thanks guys. Your the best fans a girl could ever ask for :) (Also I love you Alex your a little bottom)**

* * *

You Are - Chapter 9

* * *

I haven't left my apartment in days. It's suffocating me. I'm drowning in this never ending state of constant letdowns and downfalls. I'm sick of it all, so I laid down the other day and I haven't gotten up since. I've been sleeping in the spot Elsa slept in and, since I haven't cleaned my sheets, the bed still sort of smells like her. But I wish her warmth had stayed when she left. I wish her being had stayed.

I'm afraid I will never see my precious Elsa again.

And that might just kill me.

I haven't told anyone about what happened with Nicholas. How fucked up our conversation was. How nearsighted we both were. I don't blame him for his aggressions, his anger towards me. I understand his pain. It's like tunnel vision. And the only thing you can see is Elsa.

Sometimes I wonder if the scar on my cheek and the white stream of hair is some indication of my obsession. It's as if I've been infected; infected with this attraction that causes us addiction to the very thing that gave us such a curse. It's a beautiful curse, though. A lovely curse. I ache every day, I have sudden crying outbursts - I really can't live my life like this anymore.

I find myself wondering more and more about Elsa as time goes on. I wonder where she is; what she's doing; who she's with. I'm choking on the love at this point. Gagging on it. Every other thought is Elsa. It seems the farther she gets, the more love I feel for her.

I've never been this close to Elsa while being damn far away.

And sometimes, I can feel her. I can feel her spirit or her soul, like she's nex to me on my bed; like she's laying with me. I get a cold chill, which strikes me down my back once in a while - I think I'm going insane.

So with my last bit of desperation, exhaustion rimming my eyes, I decided to speak with Kristoff; to ask where Elsa is. I knew he would help me. But Hans answers the door and I grumble lowly before asking if I can see the boy I cheated on.

"No."

"Just let me-"

Hans narrows his eyes. "I don't want you hurting another one of my family members."

So he has heard about Nicholas. I feel embarrassment. "You heard."

"Of course I heard," He speaks, "Nick's my brother. Do you have any idea what you've done to us?"

I wince. "I know."

"You treat us like tools, Anna, like punching bags."

I nod. "I know."

"And now with the Elsa thing-"

"That you started," I shut my mouth quickly, cursing at myself for giving in so easily. I was supposed to accept his scoldings, not fight back.

"What?"

But I'm frustrated anyway. "It's your fault this is happening," I'm outraged, maybe. No, I'm furious. "You did this to us! You're the one who should apologize, you're the one who caused this whole thing to go so downhill!"

"Anna-"

"Shut the fuck up" My voice is loud, I'm screaming, jabbing his chest." You're the one who brought Kristoff here. You're the one that wanted them together. You're the one that chased Elsa away. And you're the one that cheated-" That was a memory buried long ago, just dug up for some air. It's embarrassing, to say the least. I clasp a hand over my mouth once again. The hallway is absolutely silent.

"I'm sorry."

And Hans is stiff. I've never seen such a cool, airy, confident boy look so uncomfortable in his own skin before. His eyes grow wide and his smile fades. For once, I have thrown Hans off course. He is completely suspended at this point. The thing about Hans is that he knows which way the conversation will go before it even happens. And within every argument, or negotiation, he wins. But not this time.

I did the one thing that surprised us both; I fucking proved him wrong and then apologized.

"What are you sorry for?" He mutters stiffly.

"Everything," I answer back. "Everything I've done this past week- no month."

"You can't just say-"

"I am," I nod swiftly. "I'm saying sorry. Really, I am."

Hans shifts stiffly. "What are you sorry for? In detail."

I gulp. He wants me to list all the terrible things I've done to everyone lately. He wants me to check off all my damn faults. My mouth goes dry, my eyes beady, as I study his grinning, cat-like face, to remember every damn thing I did wrong.

This whole month has been a series of doors in my face, literally and metaphorically. I'm clueless. Subject to the horridness of my ways. I'm rotting. Filthy. Dirty. I've plunged my hands deep within the blood. I'm covered in it. I'm seeping with it. I'm the killer. I'm the one who committed the crimes. A fiend. A false. The traitor.

"I'm sorry for replacing you with Elsa."

It takes him for a loop, he's speechless. He's utterly speechless.

"Hans!" Kristoff peers past the door. "Let her in, what are you doing?"

"No, actually," I bit my lip. I really have nothing else to lose. My pride was terminated long ago. "You both can stay and listen."

Hans is still wonderfully frozen, and Krsitoff glances at him strangely before nodding at me to continue.

I push a strand of hair behind my ear; it's the white one and I smile when I touch it. It reminds me of Elsa. It's her little memento. Something she left behind to keep me company. To give me comfort. Because the bed she slept in is fading of her. And the scar I once received is gone. All I have left is the white stripe of hair. I don't want it to ever go away.

Elsa is telling me everything will be okay. I can feel it in my bones. In my damn soul.

"I'm sorry."

"About?" Hans growls.

"I'm sorry I used you, Kristoff, for the entirety of our relationship."

"And?"

I gulp. "I'm sorry I kissed Elsa," I squeeze my eyes. "I'm sorry I love her so much."

Kristoff looks like he's about to lunge and hug me but Hans stops him. Hans makes me suffer. He stares at me with these wide uncontrollable eyes and just ponders what to do next. I'm already so fucking low, how much worse can it get? Fully admitting to my cheating horrible ways, before the boys who I had done such deeds to, utter humiliation. Even if I do mean a word of what I say. Even if Elsa is somehow there to help me through it all.

I know I deserve this feeling. So I take it all in.

"You love her," Hans mutters, "Tell Kristoff how much you love her."

I glance up, check Hans face, check Kristoff's face, I blush. "That's- What does that have to do with-"

"Did you like fucking her?"

I try to control myself as embarrassment floods my cheeks.

"Did you tell her you loved her?"

"I-" I stop my twitching fingers, try to moisten my mouth again. "I did."

"What was it like?"

I ignore, I'm red from head to toe; so is Kristoff. But Hans is on a roll, he's grinning madly, watching me squirm beneath his words. He loves making me weak and defenseless, he loves watching me go through a rough time.

"What was it like…fucking-"

"It was making love-"

"No, it was fucking-"

"I love her. So it was making love," I announce. "I love her with all my heart, and I'm sorry I fucked everything up in this family because of it."

They're silent at my outburst, and I stand strong.

"I'm really sorry, Kristoff," I wipe under my eyes. "I just want us to be friends again."

He's grimacing at the floor. Shaking his head with squinty eyes. It takes every ounce of strength to not adjust my eyes away from such a sight. The sight of a boy, overcoming such odds just to be with a horrible person such as myself. "We were never friends to begin with," He answers.

I bit my lip, I watch Hans' expression stay still, lifeless; he's thinking. Wondering where this talk is going to go for once. He's pushing me. Telling me to never give up. To keep going. His little harsh mannerisms are the very things that keep me fighting, keep me strong. I fight back to prove him wrong. I fight because he lets me. My white strand of hair is telling me the same thing. Elsa is here, in the air, outside. She's somewhere. She's in my soul.

"That's all I ever wanted," I mutter. "I just wanted to be friends."

Kristoff grins sheepishly. "Well, we can start now if you like," And he has the dopiest smile I've ever seen, so different from Hans's cruel smirk; it's soft, gentle. I thank Elsa, wherever she is. I smile.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" Hans mutters, a small smiling making its way upon his face.

I nod. I smile. "I'm your piece of work, though."

Hans just nods.

And that's just it. That's it.

"I need to find Elsa," I proclaim. I watch both of their smiles die at the mention of her name. I probably sound obsessed. Does an obsessed girl pray to the one she loves? Yes. "Please, just let me have this, this one thing, so I can stop making mistakes."

Hans glances at Kristoff, as if asking for permission. And he nods and smiles.

"I saw her by the West Side."

And I'm already out of the apartment.

Then, on my way to my destination, it came to me so unwillingly, so suddenly - I was standing there, holding on as the train rocked and moved, as the thoughts of Elsa came pouring into my mind. Memories of her. I try hard to not remember her, but more like try to find her. It keeps the pain out. But for some reason, on this particular day, I let the pain in.

It seeps into my bones, grabs my lungs so I can't breathe, grabs my damn heart.

I will never see Elsa again.

I will never see my city again. My New York is gone. It's all just meaningless now. Locks clicking and snapping will sound dull and horrible. Coffee will taste bitterer than ever before. Closed doors will just be another trigger.

I slowly cried on the subway then, sobbing softly, trying to hide my face from the shame.

It's tough to realize such a big thing, about Elsa leaving and never coming back – it's cruel to do that to myself.

My train stopped at my exit, the doors opened, and I stood there. I watch the people get off, the people get on - but I was still, uncertain. I realize then, in the smell of smoke and dirt, the sound of a train tinkering away, people surrounding me while they watch me cry, that I can't live without Elsa.

I actually can't live without her.

And then, I swear, it was probably the most remarkable experience of my life. Really, I'll never go through it again. The sudden excitement, swirling with panic. My hand flies out before me as the doors shut and they snap onto my fingers, I cry out in pain and shove my body through the door. I stick my foot in the way, rip the fucking thing apart. And for the life of me, I keep the fucking door open.

Because my whole life has been a series of doors in my face.

Because not one of them has remained open.

Because Elsa is right there. Because Elsa is right fucking there. She is right before me, with these beautiful wide eyes and a mouth wide open. She looks like she's seen a ghost.

I cry out her name and she turns. She turns and she looks me dead in the eye and she fucking runs.

I use all the strength I can muster, I kick the door open, I grunt in desperation and I leap over the fence as I chase Elsa up the stairs.

I'm frantic, searching for her, a sudden wind blows over. Sprinkles of white blow into my mouth and face, and I squint tightly, moments before I see a sliver of white hair run out before me.

I've never ran so fast in all my life. I was passing people, I was jumping over dogs and bags and cars and bikes, as the storm continued to beat down upon me.

She was so close, just inches away, really. If I reach out my hand, I can grab her and I can tell her everything that's happened. I'm determined, and I only run faster, and I follow her all around the city until I finally stop, hold my sides to maybe throw up and then scream out, "I love you!"

And Elsa turns for a quick second, only to trip and slam into a building.

I regain my speed, run across the street, almost get hit by a car and ignore the blaring horn as I run into Elsa.

My Elsa.

My city.

My open door.

My everything.

I'm at her side in minutes, grabbing her from the wall and hugging her like my life depended on it.

The euphoria of absolute bliss spreads throughout my body. I smile for the first time in weeks. I held her and I bury my face in her t-shirt and then, finally, after weeks of searching and fear, I laugh.

"You're so cold," I say. "You need a jacket."

And I take mine off and I give it to her, the chill is bitter, my teeth already chattering. I pull the hood around her head to keep her warm. And Elsa suddenly looks so much older. Like maturely grave. Her eyes are silent, lidded and hurt; lips tight; cheeks a bit hollow. She's lost weight. She looks tired, exhausted.

"Where are you staying?" I ask her, toying with my jacket around her. "Is it safe? Is it warm?"

She doesn't answer.

"Do you have clothes?"

She doesn't answer.

I'm smiling. I'm smiling so hard it hurts. I want her to answer me. I want to sit her down, give her something to eat. She looks homeless. My poor, sweet Elsa looks fucking homeless. I toy with her fingers and my jacket and smile and I laugh softly. But it hurts, this burning feeling in my chest, this pain.

"Are you okay?"

And she looks away. Finally a bit of recognition.

But I just keep asking. "Do you have better friends now?"

No answer.

"Are you happy now?"

And then she watches my lip quiver, my eyes water, my teeth grit as I desperately try to control my emotions. I fist her jacket and I pull my face into her chest, so timidly, so softly, I doubt she can feel it. She can't feel my shuddering, but I don't want her running away again. I want to show her I'm not afraid. I'm brave. I'm hers. Only hers. Forever. I bare a mark for her. She's imprinted in my hair. She's fucking tattooed to my heart. I love every second of it. I love her so much. I love Elsa so much. I love her so much it hurts.

And then, in the stillness, and the chill of summer, I sob openly in her chest. I sob painfully. It wreaks havoc on my lungs as I suck more and more air in desperately. But I just can't, my body won't let me. This is weeks of pent up feelings and nerve wracking wondering finally being released as I dry heave and cry into my city's warmth.

My back is twitching with every breath, my eyes clamp shut; I know I'm staining her shirt with tears. And I'm aching to have her hands around me again; I'm so desperate for her touch.

I'm muttering something. I'm sobbing some more. And my hands slide from my grip and fall uselessly by my side - just as her own arms wrap around my neck and head and her chin settles just over my white stripe of hair.

And then I just wail.

"I'm sorry!" I cry out. I scream. "I'm so sorry for everything!"

She doesn't say anything. Just nuzzles into me and takes shaking breaths that cause her chest to rise and fall against my forehead. The jacket is so warm around my neck and head. But Elsa is cold. She, herself, is freezing. But I love it.

"Are you cold?" I ask.

And she pulls back, and grimaces. "Not really. Never bothered me."

I sniffle, and I duck. "The weather-"

"You won't have to worry about it anymore."

I freeze. And I smile. "You-" I gasp, "You can control your powers?"

Her hand clasps over my mouth suddenly and she shuffles me into an alley, where she hoarsely and roughly whispers into my ear, "Don't say that too loudly!"

"What?" I mutter.

"If people know that I am this thing, this-" She almost said monster. I could hear it forming from her beautiful pink lips. She can't control her powers, because the hands on my shoulders are freezing over a bit, and she clasps her fingers together and shakily steps back and squeezes her eyes to will the power to leave. She's shaking. Shuddering. Terrified.

But I don't care. I take her hand and I watch as her blue glow settles and pops in the alley. I watch her with such amazement. "You are incredible," I mutter. "You're amazing."

Elsa just cowers back, stutters. "You won't have to worry about the weather anymore- I'm leaving."

I stare, my smile fading. "Leaving?"

"I'm going somewhere south."

"South?" I shake. "South like-"

"I don't know yet, but-"

"No!" I scream, I grab her hands and I pull them to my lips. I kiss every finger, I kiss every little blue tinted sparkle. "No, no, you can't do this to me, you can't leave me again-"

"Anna-"

"I love you!" I cry out, "I love you so much, Elsa. I can't take it anymore!"

I grab my jacket by the hood again, pull her close, kiss her lips, and she replies back eagerly, unable to control herself. We're kissing in an alley and I've never felt such want in my life. I've never felt more alive. I push her back and she grabs my arms and pulls them around her hips as she settles her chilled fingertips through my hair and face. I'm moaning in the kiss, biting her lips with such joy. I discover Elsa all over again, as I kiss her cheeks and her chin and her lower jaw and her collarbone.

"Elsa-" I kiss. "Elsa, I love you," I say once more.

She gulps. "Me too-" She kisses me, kisses me hard. "God, me too."

And we're feverishly kissing and holding and hugging, it feels so right. It feels so perfect. But my cheeks burn under her cold touch and I wince at the pain. I mutter a soft 'no' as she pulls back and stares at her fingertips with absolute... hatred.

This isn't a damn happy ending; this is the only beginning, as Elsa steps back and looks at the white strand of hair on my head and then gravely touches the soft scar on my cheek.

I can see her arousal being replaced with absolute fear, and she pulls back onto the sidewalk, and I'm left in the alleyway darkness, twisting my fingers and calling out for her. She tells me she's leaving for good and will never come back.

And then Elsa is gone, and I don't chase after her because I just don't have the energy anymore. I lean against the wall and taste her on my lips and pray it will never go away.

She stole my jacket.

I don't mind one bit.

I watch her leave me for the second time.

My ride home after that was earth shattering. I stayed on the subway, rode it all the way down and all the way up, in the same seat staring at the same window across from me. I was a ghost. I was lifeless and unnecessary.

When I finally came home, I told the boys about Elsa. The entirety of my talking, Hans actually looked guilty, and Kristoff just continued to stroke my back.

"Saying sorry doesn't fix a damn thing," I mutter to them.

And Hans nods. "It really doesn't."


	10. Chapter 10

You Are - Chapter 10

* * *

_Elsa always had this weird obsession with projects to do on the strangest of days. She'd wake me up at three in the morning to see certain stars with her, or I'd answer the door to her holding a cat and saying it needs a home. It was always a sport, an activity, some sort of game with her. She liked to do things, while I would much rather sit on a bench outside and smoke._

_While she was the one who created the adventure, I just blindly followed along, smoking my cigarette, my boots clumping behind, our hands linked as one._

_She came in like a storm one day. Wearing overalls, gloves, a trucker hat with her braid loosely peeking out, eyes full of determination and a smile from ear to ear, stood Elsa and two buckets of paint in her hands._

_I laughed the instant I saw her. She looked like a professional. With a tired groan she slapped the buckets of paint down onto the hallway floor and curled downwards. "Heavy..." She muttered, blowing out a faint breath._

_I toy with her hat, "Where did you find all these clothes?"_

_Elsa looked up then, and smiled, "I bought them."_

_"You bought clothes just so you can paint a tiny corner of my room?"_

_She felt embarrassed and ducked back down at the buckets. "Did I buy too much paint?"_

_"Did you even buy brushes?"_

_She bit her lip, "That's what I forgot."_

_We laughed and crawled inside of my apartment. All I really needed done was a tiny section of my wall. A light blue color to fit the grey tone. Elsa and I had planned to paint my walls four weeks prior, but never got around to it until that day. I wasn't expecting her of course. She always seemed to do that now and again, show up randomly with the weirdest things in mind._

_So we went to work, I laid some towels down, got some water - we didn't know what we were doing. Well I didn't know. Elsa had looked up books of the project, she made a damn scrapbook for the activity, she pinpointed the proper painting technique and the skills needed to do a perfect job. Everything she did was elegant. Everything she did was planned. Organized. Careful._

_I thought it was adorable as I splattered paint on the first white wall I could find. I was already covered in blue before I even started._

_Elsa watched me fumble with the brush, and then scolded me, "You're doing it wrong." Our hands were touching, that's all I could actually think about. My mind was on lockdown. She snatched the brush away._

_I glanced at her, and then stared at my fingers, "You got paint on me."_

_Elsa ignored and started rambling about the painting gestures and how paint was created back in the dinosaur age - I wasn't even listening, just staring at her, my eyes wide, my smile huge. I could listen to Elsa talk for days, even if it was about the most useless of things. She was smart. That's why I adored Elsa. Even though her beauty was a plus, Elsa was just incredibly knowledgeable. Book smart and Street smart. She could tell me anything I needed to know. I looked up to her. She was my role model. My everything._

_So without a single thought in my mind, like usual, I spread a line of blue paint on her cheek just as she was in the middle of speaking._

_She clamped her mouth shut and turned to face me with a look of absolute...determination. I squealed as she brushed my nose with the paint and flew backwards, my boot was caught on a towel I was trapped-_

_"Elsa!" I giggled, "Elsa no!" I cried out with laughter, as she mounted on top of me and went to town on my face._

_With some quick thinking I dipped my hand into our bucket and lightly slapped her face with a firm, wet, hand. She cried out and fell to the side and then we stood still, my face practically covered in blue, her face just dripping with it on only one side. We were up in a flash, flinging paint at each other, wrestling and rolling around._

_The only similar thing me and Elsa had was our competitive strives._

_When I had finally pinned her, and we laughed at the sheer fun of it all, I tried to clean the paint on her face with my sleeve and then blushed brilliantly when realizing I had been staring at her lips for a while. She was silent, watching me with this fascination, as I tried to gather up my stuttering and fumbling self._

_Elsa laughed then, and pulled me close, and we hugged with paint between our bodies. Surrounded by the stuff. We were blue. I fell for Elsa then, suddenly. I always thought I loved her through the door, but just being with her made the adoration only stronger. My heart swelled and my eyes squeezed tightly. I never wanted the moment to end._

_I wanted to voice it out. Say it as clear as a bell. I love you. I love you. I love you._

_It just wouldn't come._

* * *

We were all drunk. It was like old times. The beers spilled about, shadows on the walls, laughter booming through the upstairs apartment — it was a trip down memory lane.

Though our means of intoxication were for different reasons, we still maintained that drunken frenzy without fail.

While my intoxication was for the sole reason of filling up this giant hole in my heart and the constant sudden burning in my brain I've been feeling since yesterday, Hans and Kristoff's reason was purely for fun. I wasn't having fun, I was watching the boys all dance around themselves, stumbling and falling, trying out smoke rings with their hookahs.

Elsa hated hookahs. She hated cigarettes. She hated being drunk. I miss her immensely, even if I did only see her yesterday.

This was Kristoff's going away party. This was the time to have fun and celebrate my new friendship with the two biggest assholes I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. Yet, it just feels wrong. Elsa should be beside me on the couch, sipping her beer carefully and laughing at the boys and men around her. I should be up there with them, singing along to the music, jumping around Hans like a puppy.

It was all so much easier two months ago. It has all changed. It makes me sick.

Last night, when I finally snapped out of my cry-less gazing, I slept on the floor once again. I couldn't even be bothered with thoughts of Elsa circling my mind, let alone sleep in the same placement she slept in on my comforters. Every time I lay in her spot, I dream of her, and I smell her. It's just too many memories at once. It's just too much time on my hands.

So instead, I had a dream about Nicholas. He was healthy, happy, alive and well. It was the first and last dream I will ever have of him. I know that for a fact now. I knew it especially when Hans got a call from the hospital and started to cry.

It woke us up from our drunken haze quickly. Soon we were out the door, catching our breaths, eyes fluttering and teeth gritting and Hans-

I had never seen him cry before.

He looked like a child. Like an absolute child. His eyes puffy, his mouth carved into a frown, cheeks hollowed in, eyes dark and snapped shut. I had never seen him look so useless before. So poor. I had half a mind to comfort him, the other half to just watch in complete amazement. Hans hid his emotions so well - he was this damn, manipulative wall — a complete mystery half the time. One day he's helping me, the next he hates me.

When we were waiting for Hans just outside of Nicholas' room, Kristoff turned to me and whispered hoarsely, "Hans has only cried two times in his entire life."

I nod, begging him to continue.

"Once for himself," He turns to the door, "And now for Nicholas."

I didn't understand what he meant for himself. Why was Han crying about himself? Did he hate himself? Did he pity himself? What was there to pity? I didn't question it any further as Hans came out, weak, shaking, slumped in the chair and tilted his head into his fingers like a statue.

We watch him now, lifeless, fearful, bent in that chair like some sort of boy who was scolded, while hugging his head with shaky, stiff, fingertips. Finally Kristoff goes into the room next.

"He's dying." Hans mutters to me, "He's dying."

I nod, "I'm sor-"

"Don't." Hans digs into his pocket, retrieves his cigarettes, plops one into his mouth and begs me for a light with the tilt of the head. I offer, he puffs, and blows smoke around the hallway.

A nurse comes over to yell at us, and Hans ignores, blandly ignores, as he shifts back into the chair, arms slung out before him, eyes closed, head tilted back, tears stinging his eyes - I haven't even cried yet. But watching Hans lose it is hard, so I sniffle and wipe my eyes timidly.

Why wasn't Elsa here?

"Why isn't Elsa here?"

I look over at Hans, shocked he even mentioned her name, "What?"

He turns to me, shifts my hair back a bit, smiles weakly, "You're next you know."

"I know I'm next, until Krsitoff-"

"No." Hans laughs bitterly, "Christ-" He puffs again, "Elsa has taken one thing from me already-" he sniffles, his smile quivering, he's staring at me like I'm the only thing in the world. Like I can change everything. Like God. "Now she's taking another."

I don't understand, but Kristoff comes out, sobbing and clumps into Hans arms, they pat each other's backs fiercely. And I watch soundlessly, never seeing two boys cry before, never seeing boys hug and cry with such strength and emotion, with absolute sincerity.

Once you see something like that. Something changes inside of you. Something blossoms and blooms. You realize, suddenly, that boys aren't as strong as they seem. That really no one is as strong as they seem. We all have armor, but there can be some imperfections in there. There will always be little cracks and lose strings, things that make us fall apart, certain things that can twist and bend even our most strongest feats.

I try hard to ignore Kristoff's sobbing as I enter Nicholas' room soundlessly.

He's in his bed wearing robes of white. He looks oddly beautiful for someone who looks so painfully aware of their own illness. But I've never seen Nicholas look so weak and frail, fingers unable to clutch the blanket beneath him, eyes lazy and sagged, before. His hair is completely white now.

"Don't cry." He tells me, smiling.

"I'm not." I reply, wiping under my eyes. I stare, "You look like an angel."

He shyly ducks down, then glances back up, "You too."

"Nicholas, I'm sorry-"

"Me too." He shakes his head softly, "It was my fault, I just- I was so angry and-"

"I know."

We're staring at each other, willing to make the move, but too fearful to do it. I want to run over and hug Nicholas. I want to kiss his hair and tell him everything will be alright. But I'm not strong enough. I'm not confident enough. We're all a little broken and Nicholas is just the worst of it.

"Are you going to die?" It comes out quickly, and I can hear the fear in my voice. I can see the anxiousness in his eyes. I don't know why I even asked. I know what the answer will be. But I need to hear it from his chapped lips. I need to see the crinkles by his eyes. I need to make sure that monitor by his bed will never stop beeping.

He doesn't answer, but gazes at me softly.

Then the headaches start again, but this is the strongest reaction yet. I grip my head, squeeze my eyes shut tightly. Take deep breaths, but none of it's working. I feel her. Elsa. Suddenly, beside me, inside of me, my scalp is on fire, and it feels like something sharp, like a piece of glass, will come bursting from my skull. I groan in pain and Nicholas continues talking as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

"It starts with Headaches," he mutters, "Than it moves to coughs…"

"What?" I mumble out, trying to push the pain away, "What are you talking about?"

He too, suddenly grips his head, "God, its strong."

I somehow manage to shift my weight on a table nearby, my legs shaking a bit, there's this squeaking in my ear, and I can smell Elsa. I can hear her. She's right beside me, whispering in my ear. "Nick, what's happening to us?"

"It's like she's right outside the door," He says hoarsely, taking a quick glance at the closed door, eyeing it with suspicion.

And then it all sort of clicks in my head.

My headache ceases suddenly. Elsa is gone and-

"Nicholas," I gulp harshly, frantically claw at my hair, "Am I going to die?"

I never once suspected death at such a young age would be the way for me to go. Death is an option now, suddenly, I'm staring it in the face. It can take me whenever it wants to. My own kill is a possibility.

This sudden realization causes me to breath a bit harder, eyes grow a bit wider, I know what the answer is again. I just keep asking because I want someone to lie to me. Tell me everything is going to be okay. But no one is strong enough for that.

I look at Nicholas in his bed, and I stare at his crippled form, and I realize that I'm going to die soon. And there's nothing I can do.

"She did this to us." He mutters, "Elsa." He toys with his hair, a faint smile on his lips.

I match his movements. But I'm too frazzled to even speak.

The room is a white box. It's all prepped for the afterlife. Nothing in here is black, because black symbolizes death, darkness — I find it funny that we all know Nicholas is going to die soon, so why not add an array of colors and not just white?

"Were you her first?" I ask.

He shakes his head, "Elsa had a boyfriend before all this." He grips his fingers together, "Before the city."

"She wasn't born here?"

Nicholas is staring at his fingers, shaky and useless, "No." He licks his lips, "She was born out west, but- Well she had a boyfriend when she was young and-"

"He died."

He nods.

"From this...disease she gave us?" I question, pulling my white hair like a lifeline.

He nods once more. I clasp a hand over my lips, and look back outside the window. I need something to distract me.

"Loving Elsa will get me killed." I mutter. It doesn't sound beautiful. It sounds wretched and disgusting. I shift back to see Nicholas pat his bed, where I eagerly climb and cuddle with him.

"Are you scared?" I ask softly.

"No," he chuckles, which causes him to cough, "No- it was worth it. Elsa was my everything."

I nod and hum.

"She makes you happy, doesn't she?" I can see him recalling it all in his eyes. The moments he spent with her. The moments he didn't. How many times has Nicholas thought about Elsa while laying in this hospital bed, alone? "She makes you a better person."

I laugh softly, and I play with Nicholas' fingernails, which are clean of paint.

"Somehow, it's like, you just want to be better with her around." He gulps, "The best you can possibly be."

I nod, I remember. I was always better with Elsa around. I never made stupid decisions. I never kissed anyone at random. I wasnt this obsessive little girl. I had changed without Elsa, I have completely morphed into something so ugly.

"She makes me live." Is all I can say.

And Nicholas then curls his hands around me with shaky, bony, twiggy arms. His eyes are losing color, I listen to the steady beeping to make sure he's okay. I can barely feel his breath on my face as he mutters softly, wonderfully, "Then live."

I check his eyes, his pale complexion, "What are you saying?"

"I know you can love her so much more Anna-" He's grinning, he's a bit sweaty, "I know you can-"

"Nicholas-" I stutter a bit, cuddle closer, I want to feel his warmth, but he's growing cold, he's growing freezing. "Nich-"

"You got her out of the door Anna," he laughs, coughs, "That must mean something. She must trust you somehow."

"But you-"

"Who cares about me?" He smiles, he's calm. "I just want Elsa to be happy for once. And you can do it."

And I don't cry, crying will waste so much time left spent with him. So much time I spent wasted already, is now being fulfilled in only a few minutes of despair. I'm repeating his name, his warmth is leaving. His eyes are discolored and confusing. He looks so peaceful, yet so alive. And it's strange how I'll be laying in bed with a dead man soon. I don't want to see him die before me.

I myself don't want to die.

Yet Nicholas is here for Elsa. To die for Elsa. Like some modern day hero and-

"I'm not scared of Elsa." I tell him.

He nods.

"And I love her so much and-" I stutter, "I got her out of the door, by being persistent you know. Being annoying and naggy."

He cracks a grin, eyes still closed. "You are stubborn."

"She can fix all of this, I know she can. I have such faith in her. She's lost now, but I can find her and I'm done with all these closed doors Nicholas really I am."

I cuddle closer, I push my nose so far into his neck I'm sure he's choking. But I don't care, God I don't care, I just want to smell him, I want to hold him a bit longer. I want to remember how his skin feels. What his breath sounds like.

Nicholas

Nicholas

Nicholas

The boy with the cigarettes and the boots and the charm.

"Only the best can fall for the best." He whispers and I smile and I nod and I wipe my eyes on his beautiful white gown and I listen to his heart. And I hear the monitor faintly in the background.

"I'll find her," I promise. I promise it with all my soul, my being, I grab his face and I try to make him stay awake. He's falling asleep. He's so tired. "I'll find her and bring her home, okay?"

He nods, faintly, eyes closed, smile barely there, "Love her for me."

I pray to God. I pray to Elsa. I ask my parents who live so far away for help and guidance. Can someone help? Can someone do something? I squeeze my eyes tightly, I can feel Nicholas. I can feel him. He's radiating with this beautiful thing. Absolute peacefulness. Absolute care. Absolute understanding. As if he knew the answers to anything in those final moments of slumber. As if to say, everything will be okay.

I can see Hans bursting into the room, the boys everywhere, but I'm already asleep. I'm so close to slumber. And then it hits me.

I'm out.

I'm asleep when Nicholas dies.

So I wake up in a bed that isn't a hospital bed. Hans is beside me, we're curled up around each other and it's dark out. His windows are closed, his blinds are shut, curtains pulled up — it's pitch black. And the only sounds I can hear are Hans' steady breathing and the sirens outside.

"Is Nick okay?" I ask him softly.

I know the answer to that one. I know Han's asleep. I don't even know why I tried.

"Where's Elsa, Hans?"

I rise from the bed. Make my way outside, wearing one of Hans' big jackets and Nicholas' old boots. I clump by the Chinese restaurant and the snow that's falling is oddly slow and distant. It's practically suspended in the air.

I think Elsa is mourning. I haven't even cried yet. I just stare at the sidewalk and smell the Chinese food cooking behind me.

There's a woman smoking on the curb, so I ask her for a drag.

Once she obliges, I realize we're in the same spot me and Nicholas last smoked together. I don't cry. But for some, horrid reason, I laugh. It's all a distant memory or maybe I'll wake up from a dream to find Nicholas okay. He'll be by the apartment upstairs, painting. Or clogging the sink with colors. Or tinting everything with marks of his genius. I cry then. I cry because for someone who loved color so much, he just had to die in a white room. He died without a single color in his head but white.

I blow the smoke from my lips into the night, "This reminds me of someone," I say. I listen to the sirens. I listen to the people. I stare at the stick in my hand, and once I pass it over, I whisper faintly, "They're dead now."


	11. Chapter 11

**Okay so I'm very indecisive. Obviously.**

**_THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER._ There will be chapter 12 and then a prologue. Thanks for everything guys!**

* * *

You Are - Chapter 11

* * *

I woke up to the sound of someone knocking on my door. It was Elsa, of course. I could tell immediately just by her knocking pattern, soft, light, simple. Like everything else she does.

"What's wrong?" I muttered, rubbing my eyes due to the exposure of the strong hallway light bulb. She was wearing her t-shirt, no pants, again, and I was trying hard not to stare. "Nightmare?"

She nodded. I took her hand and led her into the bedroom, where we slept the rest of the night away in each other's arms. Though, before we fell into a deep slumber, I calmly asked Elsa, "You haven't had a nightmare in forever..." I toyed with her hair, her bangs, her beautiful face. "Why now?"

She shrugged, sighing deeply in her pillow. "They come randomly."

"It's the same dream right?"

"Every time."

We stared at each other and I was so tempted to kiss her. The urges were so strong back then, they were disastrous. "What are they about?" I asked carefully. "You never tell me."

Elsa looked as if she was trying to determine her answer. Her lip was being munched on softly, her eyes shifting back and forth around my face. She was observing me, observing how I'll take it.

"In the dream, I have these...powers."

I nodded. "That's happened to me before. Like flying? And um-"

"_No_-" Elsa's voice was quiet, hesitant, filled with fear. "No, they're not...simple powers."

"Okay."

She took a breath. "Ice. I can control ice...In my dream, of course."

"Of course."

"And- It starts off the same way, you and I in my apartment laughing. But-" She looked away, I think she couldn't look at me and talk about it, so she instead stared at the ceiling and kept picking at her nails. "But something bad happens, and these powers, they just-" She squeezed her eyes. "You get really hurt. At the end of every dream, you just-"

"Well, I'm sure it's not that bad-"

"You die," She said simply. "You die in every dream."

My voice was a bit shaky then, nervous laughter bubbling to the surface. She was shivering. Maybe she was crying. So I ripped off my sweater and sloppily pushed it on her; I squeezed her arms through the holes; I fixed her hair and smiled warmly at her when she sheepishly wiped her eyes with the sweater's sleeves. "Well, it's not real. It's a dream. I'm still here, see?" I grabbed her hands, I pushed them onto my cheeks, I showed her I was alive and well. I poked her stomach as she chuckled and curled away. And then I snuggled behind her, burying my face into her back. "I'll always be here," I whispered.

I didn't hear what she replied back with that night. I was already asleep by then. But I'm sure of it now, now that I remember. Elsa definitely said, "But will I?"

I never realized how _correct_ her dream could possibly be. She was right, the dreams and nightmares were all true.

_I'm dying._

It's affecting me slowly. Day by day, my hair turns a bit whiter; I get colder a bit easier now. It's been a week since Nicholas' death. The boys don't dance and sing anymore.

Hans doesn't smoke anymore. Hans doesn't plan anymore. He sleeps a lot now. He's always sleeping. I think he does that because at least Nicholas is alive in his dreams.

I'm helping Kristoff pack for his trip back home. He's leaving us. And though he hates to see his cousin go, I understand how it feels to be home sick; especially after such a rough week. Kristoff tosses me a sweater to wear. "You're shivering," He answers back as I give him a curious look.

I tug the sweater on; it's big on me, it smells like him. "Well, how will we put it back in your suitcase when I drop you off at the train-"

"Keep it," He smiles, still packing, "To remember me."

I smile. "You better visit."

"Any news about Elsa?" He says softly, folding a t-shirt.

"No."

"Where did she tell you she was going?"

"Somewhere south," I wince, "Far away."

He silently packs and we continue to cram things in his suitcase. I poke him with a cigarette. "One last one."

"It will also be one first one."

I shrug and I teach him how to smoke right outside of the Chinese restaurant. He coughs, I laugh. It's all good fun. So, we puff away but every so often I'll glance at the balcony above us. Hans's balcony. "Do you want to say goodbye to Hans?"

"Will he even be awake?"

I shrug. I shrug a lot now. My life is full of uncertainty. I start school in week, so at least that gives me something to do.

I'll only have to buy one coffee in the mornings now.

"You okay?" Kristoff rubs my back. "Don't cry."

I rub my eyes. "Let's just go see Hans before you go."

So, we approach the boys' apartment. It's freezing, cold, tidy and neat. It reminds me of Elsa's apartment immediately. Quiet, sharp, and very unwelcoming in the fact that there was no warmth. No comfort. There wasn't a soul anymore. Usually the boys' apartment is bustling, boys running in and out of doors, people talking all at once; the smell of food wafting in the air, the lights blinking on and off; noises from every direction; laughter echoing down the endless hallways and doors.

I realize that the home is also mourning for the boys' brother. The home Nicholas painted at and lived at and slept in. His markings are on the walls. His scent is in the air. He was here at some point; he was standing on the floor I shift upon uncomfortably. He was alive, breathing and real.

"Where's Hans?" I whisper to Kristoff.

"Nicholas's room."

We knock on the door softly, and open it to see Hans curled up under the sheets, sleeping. He looks like a child once again, a little soft mound underneath the blankets of gold. I pet his hair softly and coo his name as he wakes. His eyes are bloodshot, bags wretched under his lids. Hair frizzy. He's a mess.

He's an absolute mess.

"Do you want to go drop of Kristtoff with me?" I whisper to him.

"He's leaving?" Hans glances behind me to see his cousin and he rises and wraps two strong arms around the boy. They hug in silence and I want to leave but instead I just try to take in the room. It's so Nicholas. With his paints everywhere, mess strewn about. It looks like nothing has been touched in years. There's dust everywhere.

"You don't have to come..." Kristoff murmurs, he pats his shoulders. "Really...it's fine."

Hans just bows his head and sinks onto the bed. He looks lost, thinking, somewhere really far and distant. "Have you found Elsa yet, Anna?"

I look at him strangely. "That's a bit random-"

"I've been looking for her."

There's hate in his eyes. Ah. It seems Hans can't live without some sort of plan. His fingers twist together, sweat glistening on his forehead.

"Do you hate Elsa?" I ask softly, carefully. Not one ounce of judgment on my tongue.

There's silence. It's thick with tension.

"You're going to die, too," He mutters, "Just like Nicholas," He says the name weirdly. As if it's past tense.

"I'm-" I take deep breaths; this isn't helping me cope with the fact that my hair is getting whiter and the headaches are getting worse and worse. "I'm fine."

"Have you _seen_ your hair?" Hans stands, he cups my face in his hands. "Anna,_ for the love of God_, please don't leave me..."

"Hans-"

He pulls me in, holds me. And Kristoff just stares in absolute shock.

"I_ can't_ have two deaths, that's just not fair-"

"I'm fine, see?" I hug back, I cradle him. "I'm right here."

Hans doesn't look convinced, if anything, he looks even angrier. He hugs me tighter, as if to keep me safe and still. God, he's lying to himself, pretending I'll never leave. Pretending my hair isn't almost completely white.

"Hans, why are you looking for Elsa?" Kristoff questions softly.

"She murdered Nicholas-"

"She did not-"

"_She murdered my brother_," Hans hisses, he gets close to Kristoff, very close. "_She killed him_."

"She didn't mean to!" I say. "She doesn't know what she's doing!"

"She knew what her powers did! She told Nicholas all about them and yet-"

I gulp harshly. She didn't tell me a thing.

That's why she was in her room for months. That's why she would never let me touch her too intimately. That's why she didn't kiss me that day. That's why she was scared to see me, look at me - I was a walking time bomb. Any moment spent with me was just another reminder of the most hated part of herself - her beautiful powers.

"I told him not to love her- Just like I told you, Anna, and-" Hans's teeth nip lightly at his thumb, chewing on his nail. "You're both so stubborn."

"Anna didn't know-" Kristoff explains but he's pushed back. "You could have been clearer. Instead of _plotting_ with me and-"

Both boys stare at each other wildly, Hans is stiff as a board, Kristoff immediately looks down. They're hiding something from me. I can't believe I've only realized it now. And then-

"Why is Kristoff _really_ visiting?" I ask.

No reply.

"Why did you want Kristoff to get with Elsa?" I'm shaking a bit, fearful of the answer. "_Hans_-"

"No reason."

"There is a reason," Kristoff mutters softly. "I'm not here just to visit-"

"Kristoff," Hans hisses. "_Shut. Up._"

It's silent again, and I step backwards a bit, bumping into Nicholas's cabinets. I jolt at the touch and then grind my teeth together. "Were you going to hurt her?"

"What? No!"

"Not physically."

"Maybe mentally…" Hans says softly, bashfully.

I explode. "Are you-" I blow up. "Like she isn't_ already_ messed up in the head enough! Are you insane?" I'm gasping for air, I need to get out of this room, I need to get out of Nicholas's space. He's dead. He's fucking dead. Why are we even in here? I can see his dead cold face looking at me. His dead cold fucking body painting. "With her powers, the killings by accident- Locking herself in that room because she's too _scared_ to be happy and free-" I rub my eyes. "God, what is wrong with you?"

I storm out and Hans grabs my arm. We fight in the cold living room. I smack him. Hard.

"She's this_ sweet, precious thing_ that needs help and here we are just-" I look out the balcony window. The lights aren't on. Our light is from the clouds above, it's this horrible dark sensation. I hate it. I'm shaking. From anger. From fear. Sadness. Guilt. "She's out there in the cold and we're not even looking for her!"

"My brother just died!" Hans screams. "I don't have time to go looking for some fucking-"

"Nicholas would have wanted us to find her!"

Kristoff is by Nicholas's open doorway. He looks like a small kid. Lately, everyone looks like such a child. We're crawling back into our old ways. Our old habits. Hans bites his nails. I'm toying with my hair. We're children without adults. We need guidance. We need help. No one can help us; we're just spiraling into this terrible fucking abyss.

"He loved her!" I gasp out, "And even now, I bet he _still_ loves her!"

"You can't go looking for her-"

"I will."

"But she's dangerous!" He screams.

"But _I don't care_!" I shout right back.

We stare. We're having an argument in our minds. Even our eyes are competitive. We're fighting back and forth, with soft panting, little eye flicks — Hans is regretful, and I'm just too angry to think straight.

My head is killing me.

"His last words were about her, weren't they?" He mutters to me. "About that _monster_-"

"Don't you _dare_ call her that again!" I point. I'm furious now. "The only monster here is_ you_, Hans."

My fists are shaking.

"She didn't do a_ damn_ thing to you. Not on purpose, anyway-" My breathing is ragged, heavy. "And you fucking _ruined_ her."

Everyone is quiet, I see the boys too, watching us from their hiding spots. They look so different. Faces tinted with white from the windows, shadows deep and dark and purple. They look scared. Frightened. I'm terrifying. I'm horrible.

"Come on, Kristoff, let's get you home," I whisper hoarsely.

He nods. He shuffles behind me, bag in hand. And we leave Hans in his cold, dreary apartment, alone.

When we finally hail a cab, I turn to Kristoff and ask, "Why are you really here?"

And he says, "To date Elsa."

"But why?"

"To convince her that staying in the apartment forever is the best choice…for everyone."

I silently watch. It's snowing. Elsa is all around me again. I limply climb into the taxi, Kristoff is behind me and I feel a sudden weakness plague me.

"_Anna_-" Kristoff slides over closely, and toys with my hair. "My god, your-"

I feverishly jolt forwards to see myself in the rear-view mirror. All white. Just like Nicholas. It's growing even faster than his illness. I might even die…today-

I shake those thoughts from my mind. "Grand-"

And then Hans is knocking on our taxi window. He looks even worse in the light. We let him climb in, he's not even wearing a jacket; he must have run out last minute.

"I can't let you go without saying goodbye," Hans mutters, roughing up Kristoff's hair.

We don't smile at each other, this isn't a happy goodbye. Not bittersweet. Just bitter.

When we finally make it to the train station, I feel my legs give out a few times. I'm freezing. I feel like my bones are on fire from such a chill. Hans wraps his arm around me softly. He's staring at me as if he knows everything; as if he's been through this already, but with Nicholas. I smile wearily at him. It's silent communication. We're just lying to each other.

"Everything will be alright," He mutters.

"Of course."

We share these horrible, fake grins. We were just fighting minutes ago. And to be honest, I don't have the energy to even start an argument with Hans right now. I'm shaking violently at this point. I probably seem insane, with all these jackets on me, yet I'm still shuddering.

And then we follow Kristoff into the station. We have to wait outside, which is absolute hell for me. I feel as if I'll freeze to death. My fingers are numb. My legs shaking. Hans is still hugging me, practically holding me. And then the train comes.

Kristoff stares at it as it comes to a stop, then he looks back at Hans and I.

We must be such a sorry sight, really. A cold, white haired, deathly girl, being hugged by a manipulative child, without an older brother to call home.

I can imagine us in Kristoff's eyes. Shaking. Cold. Ill. Sick. _Defeated._

_We were defeated._

"I can't go-" he rubs his eyes. "God, how can I leave you two like this?" He rips off his hat and snuggly pulls it over my head. Next, he wraps a strong arm around Hans.

The boy just bows his head; he's just so damn tired. He glances at Kristoff and whispers sharply, "Anna is dying."

I'm dying.

_I'm dying._

**_I'm dying._**

"Why are we all acting like it's no big deal…?"

"She's not going to die," Kristoff mutters quickly, giving me a quick glance.

God, my ears are so cold, I can barely hear them speak about me. My lips are clamped shut. I don't have the energy to say a damn thing.

"Nicholas is dead. Anna is next. Are you-"

"She's going to be fine."

"I'm fuckin_g terrified_, Kristoff," Hans pulls me in tighter. "We have to get rid of Elsa…Maybe getting rid of her will fix this."

"Hans-" Kristoff pulls him close, he hisses. "We can't just ruin some girl's life."

"She ruined Anna's life."

I can barely speak, so my voice comes out in pants, deep shivers. "I _let_ her...ruin my life," I pull from his grip. "And if that's what it takes to find her...then so be it..."

I lean against some seats, my hands are shaking. "I have to find her. For Nicholas. For me. For _Elsa_. I have to save her."

"Are you insane?" Hans shouts. "Who's going to save _you_?"

"I don't care about me," I shudder, I lean, I try so hard to seem okay. To seem fine. I'm dying. I'm dying right before their eyes. I can feel it. It's so fucking cold. You never really realize how damn warm you are until death makes itself known. People are warm. We are all so alive and well. Take every breath into such consideration. Take everything in all at once.

"You're going to die!" Hans stretches his hands out to help me, but I bat them away.

"Well, then I better find Elsa quickly because I want my last fucking_ word_, my last fucking_ sight_, my last fuckin_g everything_ to be_ about and around her_!"

And then…

I see her.

_Elsa._

Climbing in the train.

She's going south.

She's leaving for good.

She's going to where she thinks she belongs.

But doesn't she know she belongs to me? Doesn't she know how I can't live without her? Does she know anything at all? Of course she does, she knows mathematic equations and calculations; she knows how to ride the subway and get where you're going without a map; she knows how to write, how to read, how to ride a skateboard to a bike, how to play any sort of sport from baseball to basketball; she knows where to go, where to be, how to see things, how to be seen and maybe not seen at all.

She knows everything. Elsa is a genius. She knows every little thing this world has to offer.

Everything except my complete, adoration for her. My respect. My tranquility around her. My heart fluttering at her name, at the touch of a finger. At the memory of a hazy kiss that I can barely see or stand to sleep with, due to the fact that it keeps me awake every night as I restlessly turn on the spot in my bed where she slept for only four days.

I stare at her phone restlessly and I wonder if I was her only number.

I can't go into her apartment without thinking of her.

She makes me free. She makes me strong. She makes me everything the world doesn't. She's my city. She's my paint. My color. Nicholas loves colors, and now I know why.

_Elsa is color._ She is the warmest reds and the coolest blues. She's the colorfully stained kitchen sink. She's the tall buildings around me. The lamp post I walk under at night. The sidewalks I clump upon at day. She is my everything. My absolute everything.

"Anna-"

"_I love her_," I confess. I confess it like I've suddenly realized the definition of the word infinity. Or the color blue. Or what the gates of heaven look like.

Everything clicks. School will be easier with Elsa by my side, the storm can be braced with Elsa by my side, life can be accomplished with Elsa by my side. I can do anything if she's near me or talking to me or even glancing at me. I can hear her telling me to follow. Nicholas is telling me to run.

I love her.

And then I find this energy, this will, and I stand, I jolt forwards, the train is beeping. There are colors all around me, zooming by, the doors slowly closing before my very eyes. By my last will, by my last second, by my last everything, I storm into the train and just barely make it as the doors snap shut behind me.

Hans and Kristoff rush to the train, they're screaming at me, calling at me, my jacket is stuck in the door, so I tug it off and shudder and beam at them with such joy.

"I'm okay," I mouth.

And then they're gone. Hans is rushing beside the train, trying to keep up, but all is futile as we leave the station and we're gone.

The moment I turn, I see Elsa, staring at me with these wide eyes. She's wearing my jacket. She's staring at my hair. I can feel every color in the world being pushed into every crooked bump in my body, within every heartbeat I take. Every restless little breath flutters in and out of me. I'm on air. I'm in so much pain, but it's a good sort of stinging. A harsh, painful, beautiful thing.

"_I found you, Elsa_," I mutter. "And if you run again, _I will chase after you_."


	12. Chapter 12

**I want to thank everyone who has read this story and shown me so much support over the past few weeks. This fic is a bit inspired by a few experiences of mine, and I hope I gave a good rendition of what New York City, love and bad choices are like.**

**Please enjoy the last chapter of You Are.**

**And thank you all.**

* * *

You Are - Chapter 12

* * *

_"This is Hans."_

_Elsa, currently wearing a few articles of my clothing, peers up from her menu and gives the boy a pleasant smile. She's stunning today, like always, but a bit more uptight than usual. I don't even notice this until she speaks._

_"Elsa."_

_Hans is still, lanky, but that's just how he usually is with new faces. Observing them and figuring out their faults. I can tell he's analyzing Elsa, seeing what makes her smile like that; why she's wearing my favorite band t-shirt; why she sits so straight in her seat. "Nice to meet you."_

_They smile._

_"And we want coffees," I announce, playfully stick out my tongue. "Now."_

_Hans shrugs. "Come to the counter and get them yourself if you want them so bad," And I follow him to his station and growl lowly under my breath. I watch him click buttons, insert things and finally pour our coffees. The whole time he keeps glancing back at Elsa like, if he's not watching her, she might just stab him in the back or run away. Like she's some sort of animal that belongs in a cage._

_"So, that's the ice queen?" He's watching her with these eyes, wide and almost…angry._

_"I don't know why you all hate her so much…" I mutter, sipping my drink and checking to see if Elsa's coffee is iced._

_"She's just a stranger," He breathes slowly. "We don't know her too well…" I spit my coffee back into my cup. God, it's so bad._

_"Nicholas knew her, why don't you just ask-"_

_"No," He mutters out. And then we both notice the change in conversation, which he covers up expertly. "Nicholas doesn't know her-"_

_"Nicholas was scared of her too, y'know," I say softly. "He told me a lot about her."_

_Hans starts cleaning the counter, his eyes glancing past me towards Elsa. "Well," He shrugs. "She's a stranger," He repeats._

_"Well, I hang out with her all the time now so…" I grab Elsa's coffee. "Be prepared to see her more often."_

_"Are you kidding me?" He groans. "She's part of the gang now?"_

_"We don't have a gang."_

_"We do."_

_I stare at Hans. "We really don't. If anything, Elsa and I are like a clique and you have your brothers-" I ease off of the subject. We broke up a year ago. I don't miss Hans as much now that I have Elsa. But he seems to be particularly interested in me lately, asking me to hang out, asking me to see him, and investing his time to come visit me. He wants the old days to come back, but I'm not having any of it._

_"I see how it is," He mutters._

_I think he's joking, so I walk back to the table._

_He wasn't._

The train car rattles beneath my feet and I stumble to hold on to something for support. My coat is caught in the door and I can't even begin to imagine the intense chill I'll feel if I ever step out of the train again.

It doesn't even matter anyway.

My focus is strictly on Elsa and Elsa alone. I'm watching her through the door window; she's still, stiff, tugging at my old jacket slung around her body like a crutch. She's staring at my hair. I can feel her guilt striking me. I can feel her absolute fear and heartache. And then she bolts in the opposite direction.

No one said loving Elsa was ever going to be easy. I slide the door open with all of my strength and will my legs to follow her.

I am chilled to the absolute bone.

My fingers are- ah, tiny bits of snowflakes form around my wrists.

I'm scared.

I'm scared.

I'm scared.

It hurts. It's painful. I feel like my fingertips are going to crackle and fall off. But I'm determined, I am firm.

"Elsa, wait!" I cry out, and she stops and turns.

"The closer you get the more it hurts," She mutters. I don't know if she's talking about the immense pain I'm feeling, or her tear jerking guilt. And then she slams the door open and goes to the next cart.

I follow.

I follow.

I follow.

I'm just this follower. "I'll go wherever you go!" I gasp out, slamming another door open and storming after her.

But I'm crawling while she runs. My arms brace every chair, every seat, as I shuffle. The carts are so much longer than usual. And my teeth are chattering. "You really can't run from this, Elsa."

"I'll try to!" She says and then slams another door open and runs.

I follow.

I follow.

I follow.

My legs are burning now. My arms are on fire. My eyes are tearing from the pain. "Please…" I mutter. "Please…" I whisper. And then, out of some strange sort of power, some sort of godly forgiveness, I run. I run after Elsa. She's not escaping this time. She can't leave me behind ever again. I will never allow her, I won't let her.

Mine and Elsa's feet are smacking against the train's floor, doors sliding open and slamming shut. The crackling of the train tracks is my fuel. I'm an engine. People dodge us like speeding bullets. Bags fall and tip over as we jump and grind around every obstacle. I'm getting closer and closer, inching my way until I can make out the writing on the back of her jacket.

"Can you just stop!" I scream. We slam into the small space between train carts, and her hand clasps the door handle, jiggling it open feverishly. I finally catch her, my arms wrap around her waist, my nose deep in her parka. God, now I feel the immense pain from running. "Please, just stop..." I gasp out into her back. "Please..." I've never sounded so weak.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" She yells back, trying to pull me from her grip. "Why can't you just listen to me? Don't follow me!"

"I can't help it," I smile, I rub my cheeks into her jacket. "Christ, you know I can't-"

Elsa's furious and she pushes me back, gives us room to breathe in such a small space. The clacking of tracks distracts from our heavy panting. Lights from all directions swindle and pass us by, etching our faces with shapes of light. We're both beautiful girls with these horribly, ugly problems. Elsa's clawing at the door with her nails, the mirror turns to ice. "I'm dangerous," She mutters unevenly.

"I don't care."

"You should!" She's staring at my hair. She's staring at my hands. And then she clasps a hand over her mouth and wills the feelings to die. She whispers suddenly, to herself. "Why is the disease spreading so much faster for you?" And she watches me with fear.

I limply try to stand a bit straighter as she checks and watches. "I must love you more," I sniffle. "More than Nicholas."

We stand in silence. Take in what I had just said so clearly, so carefully. But I'm shivering and shaking, barely holding on. But the smile remains. God, I love Elsa.

"Look at you," She says again, "Look at your hair, I-" She tries to hold back sobs. "I did this."

I shake my head. "No one did this. It's-"

"I did this to Nicholas too, didn't I?"

I'm stunned. Speechless. Worried that she would even bring him up.

"I visited him," Her hands are shaking, grasping one another. "Never went into the room though- I knew that if I did it would just... kill him faster." And then she turns her head, squeezes her eyes tightly, breathes heavily. There's so much tension, it's unbearable.

"Elsa."

"I knew this would happen yet-" She clutches her braid, toys with it, everything she touches now ices over, she's terrified. There's crackling all around us. She might just freeze the train over. "Yet, I still kissed you. I couldn't keep away. Couldn't control myself and now-"

I watch her lose herself. I watch helplessly as she clasps hands over her mouth, to stop the heavy breathing, to stop the sobs begging to be screamed out. I watch her cover her eyes, so she won't have to see me, this mistake she made. Another walking dead. "And now-" She can't even say it.

"Elsa, please-" I try to touch her, maybe hold her, pull her hands away. She's hyperventilation. She's having a panic attack. "Elsa, just calm down."

"Calm down?"

This is it.

She's breaking right before my eyes. I watch her face, once so soft, turn hard and almost indifferent. It's months, no, years of guilt and anguish, being released into one breath, one eye flick.

"I haven't been able to calm down in four years, Anna!" She holds her head in her hands, eyes clamped tightly. "I can't relax when I'm this thing. This monster!"

"You are not a monster!" I shout reaching out to grab her, touch her, pull her close and make her mine once again. If she was ever mine to begin with.

"Your hands- They're-"

"It's fine," I mutter, holding her face within my fingertips. "Please, don't go."

"I have to go."

"Why are you doing this?"

"I'm killing you!"

"You can stop it!"

"I don't know-"

"I know you can do it! You're so amazing, Elsa." I hold her close, her hands are fists underneath my open, cold palms. "You're so spectacular. You can do anything you set your mind to- And I'm not afraid! We can learn your powers together, side by side-"

"How can we learn anything together when you're practically dead?"

_I turn from my spot on the rooftops, my knees fall limply at the edge and I stop drinking for a moment to think. Elsa is beside me, sitting cross legged in her spot, both hands tucked between her legs. She's gazing at me curiously, as if I'm her everything, and it makes me blush. Elsa is a mystery, this wonderfully cryptic thing I will never be able to wrap my mind around._

_The thing about Elsa is her eyes. They're attentive, focused, and extremely open. Maybe too open. And right now I can tell she's wondering about me; really trying to figure me out, as I do the same towards her. We can stare all day really, all year, forever. I count the small, slight, pale freckles on her cheeks, and then I try to match the small tint of green in her blue eyes to a color I have seen once before in one of Nicholas's paintings._

_It's this strange green, not like the grass, but not like the normal emerald colored eyes I see every day. No, they're more alive; they're the waves. In Nicholas's painting, he made the woman's eyes the exact same color._

_"What?" She finally says, smiling softly._

_I shake my head, swallow harshly, tuck a hair behind my ear and shift my view to the New York City horizon once more. I'm wearing Elsa's t-shirt but it feels different. It feels like it means something now. Like she owns me. Like I'm hers and that's all I'll ever be._

_"If I die right now," I smile. "I wouldn't have a care in the world."_

_We nod and we continue to gaze up at the sun from the rooftops. We're drinking our coffees. It's summer. They're no chores. No responsibilities._

_"Don't actually die, okay?" She mutters to me faintly, softly chuckling._

_I nod. "I'll stay with you forever."_

Her words hit me sharply. And it's because of how she said them. Disappointed. Absolutely defeated of any rights. I'm shaking still, but I'm holding on for dear life.

"Don't say that-"

"It's true," She pulls back, slams into the door, tries so hard to stay away. To keep from touching me. "I'm killing you."

"Elsa-"

And then I move close, we're in slow motion. It's freezing. But I'm so used to the cold now. And I'm sure it never bothered Elsa anyway. She's beautiful. She's all I can see, even with the terrible pain all around me. She's my everything once again. And here she is. Before me. So open. So bare. So scared. I hear the ringing of the train bell, the clacking and ticking of tracks.

I feel like I'm the only one who will ever see Elsa like this.

I am also the only one who will ever make Elsa feel like this.

She's so alive right now.

The doors behind her suddenly snap open and Elsa stumbles backwards. She falls on her butt, hands behind her to still herself and I catch the door with my hand at the last second. We're still. We lock eyes, my head aches violently. And then I really see this miserable sort of look sitting upon her face. She's petrified. She has a choice, to run or stay. To fight or give up. To let it go or let it control.

"I'm so sorry," She whispers out, I can barely hear it. And then she scrambles to get up and bolts away.

I'm in the middle of the station, screaming her name when suddenly- The cold hits me like a blast of ice. It shocks right through me. I can't feel my legs. I'm literally pulled to the side by such a storm, such a wind. I squeeze my eyes and wait for the gust to end, but it never does.

Goddamn it.

_I'm late. I'm incredibly late. And drunk. Completely and totally hammered. But I chuckle silently to myself, making my way down the hall. In my hand is a box, sopping wet from the rain, and in this box is my pride and joy._

_I knock on her door. And it takes a while for her to answer but, when she does, she immediately smells my breath and looks absolutely-_

_"Happy birthday!"_

_"You're late," Elsa looks at her watch. "Six hours late."_

_I laugh. "I know, I know," I wave my hand around and crawl into her apartment. "I stopped at a bar on the way here- Had a few."_

_"A few?" Elsa helps me to the chair, she rubs my sweaty forehead and I stare at the cupcake on her kitchen table, while my shoe box gift is set on the counter. She's already in her refrigerator getting me some water and, by the time she turns, I'm eating her birthday cupcake and sucking the bottom of the candle, ridding it of the chocolaty goodness._

_"This is good-" I chew. "Really good."_

_She's speechless. Absolutely shocked. And then she slams the water bottle down onto the table and jabs a finger in my face. "I have been waiting for you for six hours, Anna! And now you finally get here and you eat my cupcake without- I haven't even made a wish yet!"_

_I glance up at her, swallow. "I don't understand why you're so mad, my God," I keep eating. "For crying out loud, it's not like I'm the only person invited to your party. That's why I took my time-" I glance around. "Actually, where is every-"_

_I look at Elsa._

_She looks so small, so fragile. Like a small little flower bud. Her hands are shifting around each other, eyes glancing all around my face, mouth firmly shut. She's stunning. And humiliated._

_"Oh…Elsa-"_

_"Party's over," She mutters, she doesn't even bid me a goodbye as she walks into her room and slams the door shut._

_I stay in her kitchen a while longer and, after a few shaky steps, I knock on her bedroom door._

_"Elsa?"_

_No reply. I immediately feel a quake within my heart, this sort of breathless panic. What if she's stuck in her room again? What if she never leaves the apartment again? Have I ruined Elsa once more?_

_"Elsa, please come out-" I look back at the table, I feel so embarrassed. "Who cares if no one else came to the party?"_

_Bad way to start._

_"I mean-" I stutter. "I'm not that drunk-"_

_"You are."_

_I wince. "Well-" I shuffle around and sit outside her door. "I'm only drunk because I got nervous." I squeeze my eyes. "I get so nervous around you, Elsa, and- I don't know why I do, I just do. And it's killing me. God, you're like this perfect thing and I'm not. I think you're amazing and-" I wipe my eyes. "I just wanted to relax a bit so I had a few drinks and then I had more because-"_

_I love you._

_Elsa doesn't open the door._

_"The cupcake was good, though."_

_"It's destroyed."_

_I perk up, and then grab the shoe box, sopping wet, hoping Elsa's gift isn't ruined._

_Very carefully, I knock once more, my hands are all shaky, maybe from nerves, probably because I'm drunk._

_"I'm leaving now-" I nod. "My gift is on your table."_

_No reply._

_"I'm really sorry-" I kiss the door before I go._

_But just as I open her front door, Elsa comes out of her bedroom, she's not smiling, but not frowning either. She looks at the shimmer on her table._

_"What's that?"_

_I look at it. "A key."_

_"To your apartment?"_

_We both blush, and I shake my head. "I found it a long time ago. I don't know what it locks or opens."_

_She stares at it._

_"It's to keep your doors unlocked," I mutter to her, "To remind you that you can always keep the door open, I guess."_

_She's staring at it. "The thing about keys…" she laughs bitterly, "They unlock and lock, Anna."_

_I shrug. "Well then, I guess you better make the right decision."_

_We're both silent. Staring at one another._

_"Tell me you're sorry."_

_"I'm sorry," I say without missing a beat._

_"Okay," she says softly/ "I need help with my birthday cake."_

_I nod and I wobble over to the kitchen table. Elsa cracks a beer open and we share it._

"God-fucking-damn it," I hiss, clutching onto the train and bolting. And then-

I'm on fire.

I'm literally on fire. My lungs fill with snow, my nostrils flare with ice. A huge, horrendous storm blows over, it sweeps me right off my feet, my shoes clack around the iced station. It's dangerous to try to follow. It's incredibly risky.

I can barely breathe, there's so much snow and frost. The wind goes right through me, my veins are iced over, my damn eyelashes are welded shut.

But goddamn it.

Goddamn it.

It's Elsa.

So, with every ounce of strength I could possibly muster, I chase her. I wrap two limp, cold arms around my frame and I follow Elsa to the ends of the earth.

She would do the same.

I cry out her name in a futile attempt to find her. I have no idea where I am, what station this is, I can make out some stairs leading to a lower floor, the only exit. But, in all honesty, everything else is white. I feel like I'm walking through fog, fog that's hard and heavy and blowing me about. I'm completely blind.

I run down the stairs and I shake when I get to the bottom. Somehow, I'm not dead yet, I have no idea why. I'm determined.

I think Nicholas is helping me.

So, I pray to Nicholas and I pray to God and I pray to some sort of divine power for help. And they help. I hear cars honking, people shrieking, the drivers are all skidding about. It's a complete epidemic. If I go out on the road, I'll surly get hit by a car sliding along the ice. I can barely see a few running people before me. I can barely see the stop signs and the buildings. I think I'm in New York still.

I feel like I'm in the wilderness. Or searching for a needle in the haystack.

I cry out Elsa's name once more.

And then I see-

A flicker!

A spot in the white.

My jacket, bright blue, blurry in the chill. The jacket Elsa kept. And I sprint, I sprint fast and hard, my arms pumping out before me like pistons. My breathing is ragged, my lungs and chest burn. My eyes water. I'm completely numb in the face and neck region.

"Elsa!-" A car honks loudly, and almost hits me, but swerves away. I stand in the center of the road petrified, shaking like a leaf, I almost died.

I almost died.

I almost died.

My eyes flutter, trying to will absolute fear from my entire being. I look. I keep running. I call out Elsa's name. I see her, running through the storm. It's like a damn sandstorm, but white. My eyes burn and I cover them with shaky hands, frozen and blue.

"Elsa, you don't have to run away from this!" I scream. My voice is blown away. It's like screaming into a pillow. A vacuum. I'm silent at this point. I look around me, I lost her. A car honks again, and I literally jump out of the lane to safety. There is no safety. There are no roads. There are no people.

I'm trapped in this snowstorm with no way out.

A man bumps into me and I fall over, my back hits the cold ground, snow is literally building up around me, its absolute madness.

_Everyone's dancing. Even Elsa, with her beautiful braid, flying about, her smile warm, just like the beer in my stomach._

_I join her, we laugh, we hold hands, we swoon and we spin._

_"You're a genius dancer," She winks playfully and dips me. We're laughing. We're drunk. We're spinning round and round. The lights above me look like glowing stars, beams from somewhere up above. They can lead me home. They can do whatever they want to me._

_Hans comes from the kitchen, all smiles and snaps a picture of us both._

_It's so beautiful out._

_It's summer._

_The sunset is gliding from the balcony._

_Elsa looks magnificent, so I hug her._

_"Hey get a room, you two!" Nicholas shouts out, smiling wildly, he's grinning. He's beautiful. "I don't want to see none of that."_

_He's wearing white like when he died. But he's so healthy, he's so warm and bright. Like the gates of heaven are behind him. It's beautiful, it's amazing. The boys are dancing everywhere, just like years ago._

_Hans is happy, he's jumping up and down, his eyes sparkling with the sun. God, it's all too good to be true._

_"I love you," I tell Elsa. "I love you so much."_

_And she laughs and leans in. "I love you, too."_

_We're together. Nothing can be any sweeter._

_We're close to kissing, we're inches away, my arms slide under her shirt, my eyes clamp shut. "Elsa, you are-"_

_I awake in a cold sweat. My eyes beady. My body glistening with my dreams. It's the same damn dream every time. Happiness. Pure joy. Something I just can't obtain._

_I hold my hair back with a shaky hand, cover my eyes with the other._

_Elsa's cellphone is beside me._

_I pretend it's her sometimes. It keeps me believing she's somewhere. That she even existed. That a beautiful girl like Elsa can possibly exist._

_I don't sleep for the rest of the night._

I need to keep following the blue blur. It's my beacon. My only hope. Nicholas is telling me to follow it. To chase after it. He's telling me to get up. My body is slightly covered with snow. And somehow, I feel numb, yet I'm still chasing.

I feel like I'm on a cloud, floating to the next sky. I'm chasing after her. It's all in slow motion. My boots clump heavily, cars come in and out of focus. Bodies of mass hysteria running around. The storm has completely destroyed us all. We didn't see it coming. We weren't prepared.

Cars are honking behind me, around me. I'm still searching for the blue. For my Elsa. My color. She's the only thing that isn't white right now. The only thing different in my sight.

I'm so close to her, I'm inches away from her fluttering coat. "Elsa-"

A car comes swerving into my view, I don't even see it at all. It honks when it stops short and almost hits me. I fall backwards. And Elsa is on the other side, gasping for air.

"Just stay away, Anna!" She screams violently, her hands waving about which sent a beam of ice to come hurtling towards me, it skims my arm, just barely, and I cry out in pain.

She gasps, fearful. I've never seen someone look so…horrible. She crawls backwards, as if a snarling animal is in my place and runs across the street.

My whole body is numb now. I fear this might just be the end. Possibly.

I watch, with a fuzzy, blurry vision, as Elsa runs before me and disappears into the snow. I don't know where I am. I'm somewhere, yet nowhere. The snow is piling up. The cars are screeching and honking, yet I can't hear them clearly.

Death is the most beautiful sensation in the world.

It's like falling into a deep, horrible slumber. You're just so damn tired, all you want to do is close your eyes…but you know that when you do, they will remain closed.

Forever.

I think softly, as specks of white come flittering down upon me.

I think of all the things I'll miss.

Hans, and his manipulative ways. His horrible helpful advice that nearly threw me into a depression. His kind, soft eyes, when we first met. How young we were. How fragile. How gentle. We met at the bottom of those stairs by the Chinese restaurant, we talked all night long, we cleaned his apartment.

Nicholas would paint in his room, and peek to watch us clean here and there. He would draw me and paint me. Sometimes, now that I recall Elsa. He would paint her and smile bitterly at his art.

Kristoff's hat feels warm against my head.

Elsa's sickness feels cold in my veins and bones.

But I couldn't possibly care less, could I? I'm lying in a pile of snow, the blinking of a car's headlights illuminating my cold, dead, limp body. I feel like I'm out of my body, I'm watching myself die. I'm watching my spirit fly away. I can see everything, even though my eyes are inches from closing.

I think I'll miss Elsa the most.

I'm sure of it now.

I'm sure I'll miss her more than anything else on the planet. More than Buddy's coffees. More than Sundays spent lazing around. More than my parents. More than my friends. More than cigarettes.

I laugh, faintly. Everything important to me seems so dull and bland to everyone else.

Elsa really is my color. My city.

It was the first time I understood the girl behind the door. Strong, secluded Elsa. Mysterious and strange, Elsa. Suddenly, out of nowhere, everything became just…Elsa.

She wasn't this poised thing.

This elegant thing.

No, no, she was a whole new thing; a whole new species of human; a whole new way of being. Elsa wasn't a word. She, maybe, wasn't even a place.

She was just Elsa.

Elsa was Elsa.

She would always be Elsa, I realized. Nothing more. And I loved her for it.

I laugh, I rise, somehow. And shift and shuffle after her.

At this point, something is keeping me alive. Something powerful and strong and deep down in my bones. It's past my heart, past all the other stuff. It's not in my body, but my being. My soul is glowing, my soul is alive.

I can feel Elsa somewhere, I can sense her somehow.

So I follow.

And I find.

She's in the middle of a snowy, flat plane. The wind is blowing around her, her jacket is swirling with the wind, her hair is down, free, and her eyes are waves of worry. I take the time to watch her, beautiful, glorious Elsa, shifting around with the snow. Elsa could possibly be the snow, beautiful and cold. Her arms twist around her as she spins, eyes fixated all around her, golden locks fluttering about, matching the butterflies in my stomach.

"Elsa!" I call out.

And when she tries to move she shifts and almost falls. I stumble close to her and I too, almost slip.

"We're on ice," She tells me, carefully trying to balance.

"Well-" I breathe a chilled sigh. "Now you can't leave-" I almost fall but she barely catches me.

When we stabilize, she tries to pull back, as if she'll hurt me, and then she looks at the scratch on my arm.

"It doesn't even hurt-" I reassure. "I know you didn't mean it."

We both stare, the storm is restless, and my fingertips are turning blue. I'm stiff under her gaze, as she watches her disease take control of me. Elsa looks a bit frightful and then rips off her jacket and gives it to me.

"You kept my-"

She nods. "It um-" She blushes, "It smelt like you, so-"

I put it on. And we smile faintly. The snow still swirls, still echoes around us. It's incredibly loud.

"Anna, are you dying?" She asks me carefully.

I shrug. "Maybe."

Elsa fumbles with her fingers. "Nicholas…" She can't finish the sentence before tears spring forth.

"Elsa, it's not your fault-" I reach to touch her and she jolts back- suddenly a swift wind comes to blow me half way across the ice. I skid back on my arms and knees, trying to still myself, trying to keep calm.

We both fall, farther away now.

We're separated once again. I can barely see her through the snow. It's just specks of color at this point. Everything else is white.

Past the horrid wind, I can hear her soft sobs. "Anna-" Her voice comes out with this dainty, sad whine. She pushes her fingers into her eyes and I watch as her elbows flex, how her shoulders hunch. And she sobs heavily into the snow. She's curled up, helpless, this weak little thing, with a huge terrible secret. The storm just blows harder. It moves me a bit backwards.

I stand. "Everything's going to be okay!" I scream past the storm. "You have nothing to be afraid of!" My arms are frozen, spots of snowflakes crystallize upon my face. I can feel it.

It hurts.

It stings.

I don't care.

I don't care.

"I'm a monster!" She sobs.

"You're not a monster!" I cry out. "You're everything else!"

Elsa looks up from her hands.

"I-" I rise, I'm numb, my head is killing me. I keep talking. I keep trying. For Elsa. For her. "I used to think you were elegant and poised! And I look up to you, you know?" I shout, trying to inch my way closer, "Did you know that?"

"You-" She rubs her eyes. "You look up to me?"

I nod, laughter mixed with a soft sob. "Of course!" I step closer, I inch my way. "Look at this amazing power you have-"

"It's not amazing," Her eyes furrow, her mouth tight.

A chill blows over at her words, and it shifts me back once again. I'm back to square one.

I try again.

"It is-" I walk closer. "It's beautiful, and special and incredible-" I wince at the pain I'm feeling. I can feel my bones turn to ice. "Just like you!"

Elsa is still lying in the snow, knees on the ice and frost, eyes on me. She's looking at me just like how I always look at her, amazed.

"Hans called me a monster though…" She whispers.

I'm so close to her crippled, lifeless form curled up on the snow and ice. "You're not a monster," I whisper as my hand dips to touch her lock of hair- but she looks up and the snow thrusts me backwards once again. I fall, my head aches.

"Anna-" She clutches her heart. She didn't mean it that time. She didn't mean it any of those times. She's shaking. Terrified. "Anna, I'm scared."

I stand once more.

I'm firm. I'm damn resilient. Bracing the storm with nothing more than a light jacket on. I will never give up. I will never lose.

"Don't-" I sniffle a bit, I feel like crying. That last blow completely knocked the air out of me. "Don't be afraid." She watches me rise once more. I start again, shifting and sliding towards Elsa. My Elsa. My goal. My life.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" Elsa is clutching the snow with her fists, it doesn't even phase her. "Why don't you just give up?"

I smile. "Because I love you."

She quakes under my words. Shudders magnificently at the tone of my voice, loving, careful, tender, so filled with absolute affection. I don't know how many times I have to tell Elsa I love her before she fully understands the depth behind my words.

How much more devoted can I be?

How much more loving can I possibly get?

My love for Elsa is boundless. Endless. Eternal. I could scream one million 'I love you's if I had to. I could keep walking back to her along this ice for days, even with the stinging in my eyes, the aches in my knees, the chill in my soul - It doesn't compare to the compassion, the absolute desire I feel for the shaking, stuttering girl before me, clasping her hands tightly to her chest.

"Go home, Anna-"

"No," I walk closer.

"I'm leaving."

"You're not going anywhere."

"Anna-"

I've had enough of the games, the mock of chattering between us. We're screaming, that's how loud the wind is. It goes through my ears and out of my mouth. I am the wind, cold, floating, strong.

"I used to think you were my city," I cry out, cupping my hands. "God, you're so much more than that Elsa!" I move closer. "God- You're so much better than this horrible place!"

She ducks down again, eyes squeezed tightly. And before I know it, I'm finally before her, reaching out to help her up. I don't touch. Never touch. Just look. Just watch with wonderment and care.

"You're not my city-" I chuckle. "You're not elegant Elsa, or poised Elsa, or perfect Elsa or beautiful Elsa."

She's watching me curiously. It's a moment unlike any other. Like some sort of small, scared animal, Elsa nimbly stretches her fingers and clasps my hand with strength. She shifts a bit, and I help her stand. I didn't forget how tall she was.

"You are..." I shrug. "Elsa."

And then it just clicks. I've been such a horrible thing, too. Pushing these words and exceptions onto Elsa, making her seem like this indestructible force. She was just as fragile and as fearful as the rest of us. Scared of her own shadow, of what she could do. Locked in her room for months. Locked away from contact and love.

"Please stay away," She pushes me back a bit, weakly, uselessly. "I don't want to hurt you again."

"You don't have to protect me," I smile weakly. "I'm not afraid."

My words have impact and impeccable timing. Softly, carefully, Elsa watches me through thick lashes. We're touching each other in any means possible. Our breaths are shallow, our eyes tinted with stray tears. Elsa's figuring it all out. Coming into terms with my stubbornness. Letting love in and letting guilt go.

And then, in the dust of snow, the blurry vision and the harsh pressure below her heart, Elsa ducks her head and simply, humbly sobs.

Pushing me close to her, wrapping two strong cold arms around me, I feel her embrace, I adore it. Her head dips into my shoulder, lashes fluttering against my neck. Shaky sobs brush against me with her every inhale and exhale.

Elsa hasn't cried this entire time, I can sense it. I can just feel years of pain being released. Poured out with every tear. Every shudder is a new beginning. Every breath is the release of steam and air. Constant regrets. Guilt. Pain. Anger. Obsession. Love. Lust. It's all gone. It's all just sobbed into my neck, kissed onto my head, sniffled into my shirt.

I feel, for once, Elsa's warmth, and I love every second of it. I lap it up. My body craves it. And we hold each other on the ice. We hold and we touch and we cry desperately into each other's arms.

"I'm so sorry."

"Me too," I mutter. "I'm so sorry for kissing Kristoff."

"I'm sorry for running away."

"I'm sorry for never chasing after you."

Elsa pulls back and her eyes are wet with tears, but her smile screams joy. The storm still rages and it blows around us. We're in a vortex of white. But Elsa is the only thing I see. She's my everything. She's the color.

I watch her expression adjust. "Are you going to die?" She asks me softly, once again.

I shrug. "Who cares?" I pull her closer, I wrap my arms around her once again, my forearms burn with the chill. "Just be here with me now."

And then, past her glorious, adoring face, is the sun.

The sun. Something I haven't witnessed all summer, gleaming from the cracked clouds above, casting light upon the cold, harsh city, burning my eyes and filling my cold heart with splendor. Specks of white fade, the wind dies brilliantly, the golden ball in the sky, bright and radiant, shines in my eyes, causing me to squint.

"The sun-" I laugh, joyfully. "Elsa-"

She shushes me. She doesn't care about the weather. God, she doesn't care about any of it. Her eyes are on me and only me, transfixed in my freckles and my squinting eyes and bright complexion. She hasn't seen me glow with the sun for the entire summer. She's taking it all in now, while she can.

I haven't seen anything so bright in my life. But of course, I'm not talking about the sun. I'm talking about Elsa. Her smile is warm, her hands cold around my cheeks. We're inches away, tingles spread through my back and neck. She's radiant. This golden, glowing thing before me, she's shining, she's illuminating everything.

The cool wisp of trees blows by, the sun peeks out from its cloudy curtain to grace New York City with light. Actual sunlight. Elsa is blocking me with her shadow, the sun is above her, glowing. Light frays of her hair shine, eyes golden and gleaming before me. I'm in heaven. I'm in absolute paradise.

I made it. I made it to see summer. I made it for Elsa. She's so happy. She's just as bright as the sun behind her. I want this moment to last forever. I want to feel the sun on my back. I want to feel her fingers in my hair. She gives these last requests to me without thought. The clouds are passing, the snow is fading, the cold is melting. I pray that this will last just a bit longer for her, for me, for-

My heart-

I cry out in pain and shudder. My heart- A terrible burning sensation completely frazzles all of my nerves. I feel it, frozen. I feel it- It's crackling inside of my ear. It's affecting me from the inside out.

"Anna-"

I shriek, my feet are- iced over. I can't move my legs, next my knees, then my thighs, I clasp onto Elsa's cheeks quickly, feverishly. I'm crying. I'm crying so hard. I'm crying and trying to smile, I probably look so damn pathetic. This sobbing, laughing, barely holding on mess, clamping onto a girl for dear life.

I'm struggling to make her see me, to make her look me in the eye instead of the disease she caused, slowly killing me. Her eyes glance down once again at my arms, my hands, my face is turning a light frail blue, and I can see the tint it leaves upon her own face.

"Kiss me," I mutter feverishly, desperately.

"Anna, you lied-" She pulls me closer, her arms keeping me up, "You're not fine- Oh, God-"

"Please kiss me," I hold her close. "Please, just kiss me."

We both secretly come into contact with the idea that my prominent death is near. And these are my last seconds of air. Of life. Of color. Of Elsa. Of us.

"Please don't be afraid-"

We're panting, trying to control our breathing. It's so hard to talk past panic. You can barely breathe, let alone speak words, let alone think of the words you want to say. "Everything's going to be okay-"

"No!" Her voice is high, pitchy, nervous and fast. "No, I don't want this to happen to you-"

I shush her. I'm weak. I can barely feel my legs. My whole bottom half is completely numb at this point. "It's okay-" I pull her closer, my hands are on her cheeks my fingers are in her hair. "It's okay because I'm dying with my last everything being all about...you." I'm whispering. I'm frail.

"Anna-" We feel my arms freeze over, next my shoulders. "Who'll bring me coffee?"

I laugh softly. I shush her. I still can't accept the fact that this is happening. I'll keep lying to myself and Elsa and Hans until it happens. I'll just keep pretending.

"Who will get me out of my apartment?" She's sobbing now, openly crying. "Who will- go to Buddy's with me?"

I keep nodding. It's the only reply I can give. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I can't speak. Next is my chest. I can feel it. It' so painful.

"Who will knock at my door late at night?"

I keep nodding.

"Who will-" She sobs, hugs me tighter, she can feel me icing over. I can feel me icing over. "Who will save me from myself?"

I pull her back to look at her. I've never seen Elsa look so bare before, so open. So fearful.

"I love you," She says. I've never felt more proud, more honored. I always imagined this proclamation to be in front of a waterfall, in a horse carriage - nothing out of my wildest fantasies could beat this dream before me. Elsa, glowing, telling me she loves me, with nothing but absolute adoration on her face - it's as if nothing else matters. Nothing else will ever matter now. I can, literally, die happy. I can feel her breath. I can see the green waves in her eyes. I can count the pale, barely there, freckles on her cheeks. And I know her so well, I know what she's thinking, what she's feeling.

She accepts my death with wide, open arms. We have forgiven each other with mutual respect. Absolute worth and value. We love each other and that's all there is. All there will ever be. There's no guilt. No pain. No anger. We understand. We accept. That's all there is left to do.

But wow. Elsa, the girl of my dreams, the beautiful thing that keeps me up at night, helps me smile every day, has confessed towards me. I feel big, huge. Like the boys. I feel like the boys. Like New York City. I'm glowing and tall and brave and proud.

Elsa loves me.

Elsa loves me.

Elsa loves me.

I grin. My mouth moves but words are useless, dry. I'm spitting out these muffled words and tasteless promises we both know I'll never keep. I never felt so alive in my life, even though I'm minutes away from my death. My obvious, scary, death. Inches away. And of course, now, Elsa decides to tell me the three words I've always wanted to hear.

So many people have told me 'I love you'. But it never meant anything before Elsa said it; before Elsa proclaimed such a beautiful thing towards me, both hands clasped around my back, holding me up. She's my rock. My city. The very thing I crave, slowly killing me. It seems, as if, the more I love, the more I die.

And death is incredibly euphoric. I think. They say 'you look like death' as if it's a bad thing. But once you experience death, whether it's painful or not, it's anything but bad. It's good.

And it's so incredibly calming.

It's so amazing.

Is this how Nicholas felt like when he died?

Of course. He was in absolute bliss.

And I feel myself drifting away…softly…slowly…

I'm fading.

And everything is Elsa. Everything is her. My city, my apartment, my door, my life, my soul, my spirit, my absolute care, she's my color, my stained sink-

But more so than that…

She is Elsa.

The last thing I see is something great. It's spectacular. It's Ice Queen Elsa, darkened by the sunlight behind her, grinning with tears in her eyes. I see the last two most beautiful things I've ever discovered, in all my life, both of which have been gone for so long, before me. I remember the sun. I remember Elsa in the sun. I remember so much. It all just goes by. So insignificant. So contrite.

"Don't leave..." She hushes. I think our foreheads are touching, all I can feel are her hands, the sun on my skin, the gentle breathing of Elsa.

She kisses me finally. She kisses me with such passion, such fever, it almost knocks me off my feet as she lifts me with two strong arms. Her hands are cold under my shirt, her eyes clamped tightly, lips cold and timid. She continues to claw at me, trying to pull me closer, save my last minutes for her. Save my last breath for her. My last taste. My last ending dying word.

Every color in the world is sparked behind my eyelashes. Every fucking beautiful thing in the world is swarming around in my brain. I'm on cloud nine. I'm swimming with the sky. I'm leaping underneath the layer of ice, frozen and stuck to my skin. It's like I've been shocked with the hottest summers, the coldest winters. I'm spinning and twisting and turning, yet I'm still. I'm calm.

"I won't ever let you go," She mutters onto my lips once again. I don't know if she means that in the literal sense, or maybe in general. I don't want her to let me go in any way, any form. Stay with me forever if you must.

Suddenly, she's carrying me. "You're going to be okay," She says. "You're going to be okay," She echoes. She's dragging me through the watery ice, under the blistering sun. How far can she take me? How far can we possibly go? She's clutching on to me, lifting me with unpredictably strong arms. Her care is incredibly endearing. And I don't know how she can even see where she's going with all those tears in her eyes. "Someone can help," She says. "You're going to live."

I don't believe her. I don't think she even believes herself.

I watch from her arms, I watch carefully, as death takes me soundlessly. She is beautiful. Elsa is absolutely gorgeous. Inside and outside. Her inside beauty will maintain, even if outer beauty doesn't. I watch the waves in her eyes, I watch the tugging of her lower lip, I listen to her sniffles - it's all music to my ears, art to my eyes. She's struggling, moving us with unknown strength. She keeps muttering at me, at herself, her whispers mingling with a few louder words. She echoes her words like a broken record, and I stay and listen, drifting to sleep.

Everything I see is color. Everything I feel is-

"You're warm," I tell her, tugging lightly. I have no strength, but she must know that she's not freezing cold for once. That she can control her powers. That there's still hope for her, even if there isn't for me. "You're warm," I try to exclaim. I try to smile.

I watch her lip quiver, I watch her pull herself together, but fail horribly. All I can do it watch her struggle, pull, cry, try. I cheer her on. You can do it. Don't give up. Don't let them turn you into a monster. Don't let them control you.

She glances down at me finally, I think we're out of the park. "I love you," She whispers, a small quiver in her voice. "You're fine," Ah- I cry softly.

I love her.

I nod faintly. "I'll be fine."

The last thing I think is when I'm going to get Elsa her coffee tomorrow. The last thing I realize is that I can't.

Next thing I know, I'm over the city. I'm gliding. I'm flying. As if wings sprung from my back, given to me my God himself, I float over the city of my dreams with absolute grace.

I visit my apartment.

I visit Elsa's. Clean. Tidy. Cold. It was constricting.

I remember smoking out on Hans's balcony, with the boys cheering behind me. Nicholas on his death bed, grinning this big, fake smile. Nicholas above me, falling into this never-ending slumber. Kristoff, pulling Sven off of me. Crying outside of the Chinese restaurant. Spilled beers on the sidewalk. Crackling smokes under our boots. Buddy's late at night, the only light, a faint light bulb, beaming from up above.

And then. I remember faintly, seeing Elsa underneath her apartment door for the first time. So untouchable, so distant. I remember watching her drink her coffee from the counter-top. I remember crying in her arms late at night. Knocking on her door drunk. Taking her out to the parks. Laughing with her on late nights, cold beers in our hands.

I visit our apartment. I watch the workers in the restaurant below work. I watch the balcony from upstairs. I pace Elsa's cold, dreary room, the furniture tinted with an inch of dust. I stare at Elsa's spot in my bed.

The last and first thing I see is Elsa. Always has been.

I awake carefully, melding into reality, eyes fluttering and hands twitching underneath the blanket on top of me. I think, for a moment, that I'm back home, I'm 14, at my parents' house. The smell of waffles wafts into the air, the steady clacking of heels outside of my door echoes – it's as if I never left to begin with.

But the vision fades as quickly as it comes, as the soft breathes, of non-other than Elsa whispers against my neck. She's curled in bed with me, gripping me with both arms, hair messy, disheveled; she looks exhausted, even asleep. And I've never seen anything better in my life. I've never felt such peace even when feeling shocks of pain shoot through my body.

Then the beeping storms into my ears.

Then the machinery around me comes into view.

The chirping and brightness of summer faintly skims my eyes from the open window beside my bed. The curtains, white, clean and clear, shift and turn with the cool summer breeze. Nicholas's room was white too. Nicholas's room had curtains, just like that. And I remember all of the tiny, insignificant details of a dead man's hospital room, as I stare at the ceiling to realize that Elsa saved me, that I'm in a hospital, that I'm not dead, but in fact, alive.

I feel like crying from joy, absolute happiness. I'm alive. I'm breathing. My legs are sore, my head aches, my eyes are glassed over with perspiration but I've never been happier.

Elsa shifts a bit closer to me, her arms wrapped around my torso, legs around my own, I try to wake her with my raspy, barely there voice.

She stirs, flutters her eyes, cheeks dried with tears.

"Hey."

Elsa leans on her one arm as she fully realizes who's before her. "Hey."

We grin wildly. "How-"

She just shakes her head, a soft, light stream of hair falls in front of her vision, which I push behind her ear with a shaky, limp hand.

We stare at each other with affection. Our true selves, finally out in the open.

"The sun-" I shy away from the light and Elsa stands to cover it but- "No, I like it." I rasp out. "God, I love it."

She turns, a perfect vision. I'm reminded suddenly of that time in her apartment, where we almost kissed. The window behind her, like now, was shining as brightly. It was gleaming. Bright, golden rays of light, flowing from beyond the girl before me. She's radiant, glowing.

Even through the past two months of steady heartbreak, loneliness, homelessness, Elsa still looks the same. Maybe a bit more calm. It enthuses her beauty. Makes it even better. She's different somehow. Though I don't know why.

We hold hands. "Sleep with me," I ask sweetly.

And she raises the covers, crawls under my touch and sighs contently into my neck. The beeping continues to flicker. The room is still white. The curtains still blow. The sun still shines in my eyes. And Elsa is still by my side.

We have nothing else to say. I have a million questions but I'm just too tired to ask them all at once. I'm content to lay here forever if I must.

"Everything's okay," She tells me faintly, whispering into my ear with that soft velvety voice of hers.

And I nod. Maybe to myself. Maybe to her. How original. How optimistic. How positively true. How horribly true.

Everything's okay.

I know she's watching me. Shifting above me and probably counting my freckles or how many times my chest rises and falls. She's whispering sweet things in my ear, calming things, things she's never said to anyone before in her life.

I smile, too tired to reply back. I have no strength, I'm exhausted. But that doesn't stop Elsa from hovering over me for a while. She knows I'm sleepy. She knows I'm borderline asleep. She knows that the smile on my face will fade with time, as I meld into my fantasy world once again. She knows that I'll leave one day and maybe never come back. Or that the sun will go out and the moon will come out.

She knows that the tiny insignificant things matter to me. And she knows that being in a white room scares me, which explains the bright sunflowers by my bed. She knows that the snow will come back, and I know that it won't be from her this time. She knows that eventually our lives will run out. Or that everything, even the best of all things, must come to an end.

We both know all of this. We've practically experienced it already.

We kiss anyway.


End file.
